


Four Parts Bourbon

by darkmochecoffee, exolimelight



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Depictions of alcoholism, Drunk Sex, EXOLimelight2017, Explicit Smut, Famous!AU, M/M, Smoking, age gap, alcohol use, pretentious writing tbh, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 15:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12435837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmochecoffee/pseuds/darkmochecoffee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/exolimelight/pseuds/exolimelight
Summary: Dancing on that thin line between sobriety and intoxication, Chanyeol sees his muse again.





	Four Parts Bourbon

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #: SELF PROMPT  
> Pairing/Main character(s): Kim Jongin/Park Chanyeol, hinted! Oh Sehun/Byun Baekhyun  
> Rating: E/NC-17  
> Word Count: 20.5K  
> Warning(s): age gap, depictions of alcoholism, alcohol use, smoking, explicit smut, drunk sex

_Park Chanyeol wakes up to sheets, an endless sea of white trapped between his naked legs and dust motes floating within the elongated pane of sunshine cutting through his bedroom's half shut draperies. He shifts and smiles when a human body turns itself towards him, seeking the heat of Chanyeol's neck. Chanyeol laughs._

_"Babe." His voice is rough from sleep and it startles the man beside him. Chanyeol watches him stir in his sleep and Chanyeol feels bad for derailing him from his otherwise, lofty sounding dreams. Chanyeol chuckles quietly when the man succumbs to sleep again, throwing an arm around Chanyeol's chest and unconsciously tangling their legs together._

_Chanyeol's heartbeat is a little erratic, even now, almost six years with him and Chanyeol still finds him the most beautiful, especially when he's cocooned upon Chanyeol's white sheets and his tawny skin blends upon white. Chanyeol is so in love._

_And maybe, breakfast can wait._

\--

Park Chanyeol is a film director. Or as his numerous glass plaques, intricate trophies and countless of awards imply. He's directed his own dozens of films from major box office hits to niche favorites, Chanyeol has probably one title under each category.  In his industry, he is a Jack of all trades and a master of none. Chanyeol's fine with the otherwise unremarkable title, it's given him money, fame and people throwing themselves at him, figuratively and literally. It's an opulent life and Chanyeol finds himself quite exhausted.

Chanyeol likes to think that his passion hasn't become a chore but it's quite hard to remind himself when files upon files of film project proposals lie on his barely used oak desk. Maybe it's the creative juices, all but nothing remains and he is left staring at the small preview screens of his would be latest block buster with a slightly intoxicated mind which results in uncharacteristic directing and stupendously bland cinematography. Chanyeol should be ashamed of himself. His disrespect for his craft is reeking in the form of sold out opening nights and harsh film reviews.  There is no in between.

Chanyeol is a film director and when he's not shouting at some talentless actor, he likes to drink coffee which is four parts bourbon with a mixture of irritation and regret.

Chanyeol is a film director, he is thirty-one years old, at the peak of his career and the ever flashing of cameras blind him. Chanyeol does not understand why he's jaded. Chanyeol is not depressed, he is just…frustrated and angry, rich, famous and useless. Such is the perfect consternation.

 

Chanyeol smiles as he steps upon the red carpet, the cameras are flashing, his ears are ringing, his eyes see nothing.

When the sound of polite chatter cease into oblivion, when Chanyeol can walk freely without the ever-present paparazzi and their endless questions, Chanyeol likes gets lost. He has a wad of cold cash in his pockets and his breath is tinged with bitter coffee and the hot lick of expensive bourbon. He looks for something he does not know. He looks for inspiration and distraction, he looks for people, for life, for the rawness of humanity and not the usual artificiality so artfully concealed in all facets of human chaos.

Chanyeol does not find what he seeks but he does stumble upon beauty personified. He finds him in the side of a busy street, people glance, some toss a bill or two and some are like Chanyeol, they watch. Chanyeol's not sure if it's the bourbon thinking or if he's truly enthralled.

He finds a street performer, a graceful dancer. Chanyeol sees him like a bright white spot in an endless abyss, like a film on centralized slow motion.

He reminds Chanyeol of the eye of the storm. Somehow, the perfect synergy of skin and bones, strong and graceful, is a wonderful juxtaposition. He steals Chanyeol’s breath in that almost suffocating manner. Chanyeol watches for so long and when the last of the contemporary music fades, the dancer smiles, that dazzling breathless smile heralded by a muffled applause and the rushed shuffle of people in the constant fabric of society. Chanyeol remains standing there even after dropping all his cash by the dancer's feet, he just observes and notes the curve of satisfaction upon the boy's lips.

Chanyeol wonders if he could share just one lick of that satisfaction, he'd exchange the world for it. And so like that, Chanyeol has found himself a temporary recluse, a purpose so faint it could be akin to chasing the remnants of emerald dusk behind the fast approaching obsidian night.

Later, Chanyeol belatedly realizes that he has no money left on him, so when the cab driver asks for his payment, Chanyeol snaps off the expensive watch around his wrist and hands it over with quick apologies.  He'd impulsively bought the watch and relatively hated it like all else. It's too heavy; Chanyeol is relieved to have gotten rid of it.

//

Chanyeol has never believed in the concept of unified and equivocally acknowledged perfection. It is subjective like beauty which is in the eye of the beholder. Perfection is fickle, sometimes it's fiery embers, or cold ice and for Chanyeol, the Dancer's perfection is something in between. It's fascinating to watch his lithe body move in that kind of titillating grace that could hypnotize.

No one really halts and watches anymore. The inanimate shops full of cheap goods around them receive more attention than the Dancer and Chanyeol loathed how people couldn't even stop and appreciate the spectacle. It's a pity that no one could see a diamond in the rough. But then again, people wouldn't adorn themselves with coal unless they are turned into diamonds. And the Dancer is just that, a coal that could turn into a diamond.

He continues to watch until he's mesmerized that an idea born from complete inspiration (and maybe desperation) begins to take root in Chanyeol's for once, sober mind. Chanyeol smiles to himself as the Dancer does a half but cleanly executed pirouette, landing on his toes like he is stepping upon clouds. It's a beautiful sight. When it's over, Chanyeol drops all bills he has on him except for a few for that cab that would eventually take him home.

//

The next time Chanyeol goes to watch, he's dressed not as casually. He also drives this time, the backseat of his luxurious sedan holding his own camera and equipment. He'd ask the Dancer's permission to let Chanyeol film his perfection. But he's not there. Chanyeol hurriedly exits his vehicle, his gaze darting across the busy street and finding nothing, no one. The Dancer's spot is vacant and Chanyeol feels devastated. He stands there and balks, because this shouldn't have happened, Chanyeol should have asked the moment he saw and felt something.

The disappointment hurts as much as it cripples. Chanyeol could weep for the loss of his chance. It's always been like this, the moment he finds something that stirred his emotions, it evades him. And he's left there watching it spill like fine sand through his fingers.

 

Reverting to his old ways after a momentary distraction is like welcoming a friend. Most days, Chanyeol finds himself looking through old film reels with a lighted cigarette dangling between his long fingers. He also admits that his coffee is more bourbon than actual coffee but he doesn’t really mind. Chanyeol is still looking for his muse even though he’s under the impression that his muse has mercilessly left him like everyone and anything he truly cherishes. It’s a painful process, but it’s a process Chanyeol has gone through more times than he could remember.

But it’s different this time and he wonders why that is. After the nameless dancer, Chanyeol’s been stuck in a sort of placating limbo that makes him feel that void in his chest. It used to ache but Chanyeol realizes it doesn’t hurt as much as he could feel that void widening. He wishes it hurt instead, because it’s better than nothing at all.

Maybe it’s love at first sight. Chanyeol humors himself. After all the dancer’s physical beauty was also entirely something else and it has absolutely captured Chanyeol. It makes Chanyeol feel like he’s breathing underwater. He’s not dying, not even aching, but he’s unsettled. It’s like his waiting for his puny oxygen bubble to pop and then he’d drown.

Chanyeol doesn’t want to drown but he doesn’t know how to stop feeling either.

 

//

 

Eight weeks pass since the Dancer and Chanyeol’s life has lapsed into its usual inanity. Currently he finds himself above some man he couldn’t name. The alcohol on Chanyeol’s tongue is acrid. The haze in his mind clouding everything else. When he finishes, the pleasure is a dull zap that passes through his body.

Sex has obviously lost its charm and Chanyeol thinks he should stop. And so, he does. When they’re finished, Chanyeol is happy to watch the stranger dress himself and make his way out of Chanyeol’s opulent penthouse apartment without so much a parting word. Chanyeol’s then staring at his ceiling, the back of his head throbbing and he knows he should be reviewing the script for the latest action flick he’s tasked to direct but there’s just …nothing.

When Chanyeol closes his eyes, he sees the Dancer, pirouetting in his dreams and that beautiful face displaying the look of unadulterated satisfaction. The fantasy imminently calms Chanyeol’s thoughts and he succumbs to a rather dreamless sleep.

 

 

Three weeks later, Chanyeol is in a limousine watching the blinking of lights in a chaotic city through the tinted windows. He’s slated for an award show, Chanyeol didn’t even know he’d won Best Director again if it weren’t for Junmyeon nagging him to attend and get the award himself. Humor me Chanyeol, Junmyeon had said and since he didn’t have anything better to do, he agreed.

Chanyeol thought he’d been hallucinating when he sees the familiar figure, fading fast as his vehicle careens forward. Chanyeol had screamed stop, howling his instructions to the limousine driver, before he’s scrambling out of the vehicle. Chanyeol runs and when he sees the young performer, his heart leaps. The Dancer is still as beautiful as Chanyeol remembered. His warm tawny skin vivid against the white T-shirt he had on.

So, so, so beautiful. He is art. Warm, breathing, moving, living art.

When the Dancer ceases, Chanyeol’s body is propelled forward and he is wrapping long arms against the boy’s sweaty body, pulling him closer. Chanyeol breathes him in and doesn’t let go until he hears the boy’s voice. “Uhm, mister?”

Chanyeol steps backward, horrified at what he’d just let himself do. He barks his profuse apologies, and the boy merely brushes him off with small chuckles. “It’s okay, it happens sometimes. Can I help you with something?”

“I want to film you.” It’s out of Chanyeol’s mouth before he can process and the boy just looks at him with confusion blinking in his amber eyes and it’s then that Chanyeol had noticed just how young the boy is. “My name is Park Chanyeol and I want to film you.”

“Oh,” is the boy’s articulate answer. “I’m Kim Jongin. It’s okay I guess.” He says, smiling sheepishly at Chanyeol and chuckling.

“You don’t know me?” Chanyeol had not meant to sound conceited, but his curiosity got the better of him. Chanyeol’s position in a film is usually obscure but he’s a rather known face in the industry and it surprised him that the boy didn’t show any hint of recognition. Chanyeol likes it.

“No.” The boy says as he turns off the portable speaker he used. “Should I? I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I was conceited.”        

The boy, Jongin, smiles at Chanyeol again, sweetly, innocently. “It’s nice to meet you then, Chanyeol-ssi. I’m gonna be here tomorrow. You can do as you please.”

The boy shoots him one last smile and the image of his retreating back sends panic clamoring over Chanyeol’s insides. He strides forward and wraps his fingers around the boy’s bicep. “Wait.”  Jongin looks back and slightly raises a brow at Chanyeol’s hand. “What?”

Chanyeol honestly did not plan this enough except for the fact that he refused to watch the boy turn his back on him for the second time. He is confused about his overwhelming panic.

“Uh, just take care. I’ll wait for you here tomorrow night.”

The boy smiles, “Sure.”

 

The next morning, Chanyeol is handed his recent award by a fuming Junmyeon. The older man narrows his eyes at Chanyeol as he places Chanyeol’s latest “Best Director” award on Chanyeol’s table. “You told me you were going to attend.”

“I’m sorry Jun, something came up.”            

“Then care to elaborate what exactly came up for you to ditch the award show? You do know the press is pesky about details on why you bailed last night, right?”

Chanyeol chuckles, thumbing the sides of his newest trophy. It is another addition to his ever-growing pile of recognition he didn’t particularly care about, how ironic. “Do you want an honest answer?”

Junmyeon doesn’t humor him with a reply.  

 “I’ve been watching this dancer perform downtown for a few days now and I want to film him.”

Junmyeon basically gawks at him and runs a frustrated hand through his bleached hair, “Are you seriously telling me this right now?” Chanyeol stares at the man, “You said you wanted the truth, there’s your truth. Are you disappointed it wouldn’t cause much drama?”

“Chanyeol please don’t be like this.” the resignation in Junmyeon’s tone is apparent as he shifts his weight from one foot to the next. “The next time you decide to bail on me, please do tell. I’m not all knowing.”

Junmyeon turns and moves out the director’s office and Chanyeol think he should apologize to Junmyeon in advance for what he’s about to do. Chanyeol turns on his swivel seat and faces the floor length windows of his office. There’s a small smile on Chanyeol’s face when he thinks of the dancer, of Jongin, and the plans brewing in his mind.

 

Chanyeol has three cameras set up on site. It’s still summer, five-thirty in the afternoon and yet the air is slightly frigid. The sky is a vast sea of orange dragging fiery embers against the steadily darkening horizon. Chanyeol smiles. A few minutes later, he sees Jongin’s figure walk upon the place, there’s a look of bewilderment in his boyish face, a small grin playing on his lips. “You were serious?”

Chanyeol nods his head and slowly appraises the boy’s appearance. Jongin is clad in a maroon sweater and some dark pants and his sneakers look like they’ve seen better days.

“Of course, I was.” Chanyeol says as Jongin sets up his puny looking sound system. Around them, some people have already stopped in their tracks, in the corner a group of teenaged girls is huddled together phones already whipped out. It definitely looks like Jongin has amassed for himself a small following since Chanyeol last saw him and it makes Chanyeol happy.

Finally, the beginnings of an EDM based music spills from the speakers Jongin have set up and Jongin allows it to control his lithe body. The music seems to have wholly consumed him as his limbs move in a kind of coordinated grace Chanyeol hasn’t seen in anybody else. Jongin’s moves are fluid, sharp and brisk all at the same time and his expressions twist into teasing smirks and smiles radiating of satisfaction and exuberance.

It’s the picture of breathtaking perfection.

Chanyeol suddenly finds his fingers shaking, and he couldn’t zero out the reason as to why he’s incredibly tense. It’s the first time in his creative career that Chanyeol absolutely doesn’t have any idea as to what he’s doing. He doesn’t have a screenplay to work on this time. He doesn’t have some grand or elaborate kind of fantasy universe to realize and breathe life upon. He doesn’t have talentless actors to scream his demands to and he doesn’t have fancy equipment that would make his vision into a reality. What Chanyeol have are three cameras and a dancer brimming with natural perfection and beauty Chanyeol is almost afraid to tamper with it.

There’s something beautiful within things that are untamed and left in their natural habitat. This Chanyeol knows but his art has never been this pure before, never been this uncontrolled and Chanyeol doesn’t know how to capture this perfection and preserve it. He’s at a loss.

When the music stops, Jongin ceases as well. There’s a hush in the audience before gradually bursting into a quiet applause and hoots of appreciation. Chanyeol finds himself applauding with the crowd. Jongin dances for another twenty minutes that seemed like short seconds before concluding his usual routines. The audience disperses, with promises of seeing him the next time he performs, dropping bills on Jongin’s feet. The dancer claims his prize with a satisfied smile, seemingly forgetting Chanyeol’s existence. The director lets him bask in the aftermath of his successful performance before he approaches the boy. Jongin finally notices and gives him a rather blinding smile, Chanyeol’s breath hitches.

“You were amazing.” Chanyeol compliments, he wants to tell the boy so much more but he’s afraid he’d scare him off.

“Thank you, er Chanyeol-ssi.”

“Call me Chanyeol or hyung whichever you prefer.”

Jongin nods, says “Chanyeol.” And the syllables of his name have never given Chanyeol such utter bliss before. Jongin then turns back to what he was doing, he gathers his speakers and stuffs them in his backpack. When he finishes he bids Chanyeol goodbye with one last grin.

The thing is Chanyeol doesn’t want to watch Jongin turn his back on him the second time so he presses on and hopes beyond hope that the younger isn’t going to be creeped out with the way he’s behaving.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Is Chanyeol’s rather crude invitation.

Jongin’s expression shifts, “I’m sorry?”

Chanyeol is very aware that he might be scaring the wits out of the poor boy. He smiles unsurely, just to placate whatever thoughts the dancer must have been harboring.  “It’s just, I want to get to know you.”

In the end Jongin concedes, he looks half threatened. “Okay.”

Chanyeol thanks him profusely and they eat dinner at some expensive restaurant. Jongin darts his gaze around the opulent space. He looks nervous as he walks astride. Chanyeol leads him to a far corner table and ushers him to sit. Jongin bows his head in thanks, still looking as wary as the first time Chanyeol had spoken to him.

They order their food and eat in relatively uncomfortable silence.

“I’m really sorry about the sudden invitation.” Chanyeol says, “I guess I just wanted to get to know you. You’re incredibly talented.”

Jongin gives him a small smile. “Uh, thanks. I’m just a bit…uh confused.”

Chanyeol nods in understanding. “Actually, I’m an aspiring director.” The seasoned director and filmmaker lies through gritted teeth. “And I want to try something new by filming you. If it’s okay with you that is. I’d pay you if you want.”

“Oh no thanks.” Jongin reddens and immediately amends his statement, “I mean you can film me if you want but I’m not taking your money.”

Chanyeol quirks a brow upward, “But why wouldn’t you accept talent fee?”

Jongin calmly shakes his head. “I don’t want my dancing to be like that.” The boy explains, “It’s a personal philosophy more than anything, but I’d appreciate things better if people would just watch. And if they’d want to give me something because I stirred their feelings or something, then they’d be welcome to give me anything and that’s the same with your case. I’m not really sure why would you want to film such a boring subject and I wouldn’t oblige you to pay me for something I’d gladly share with you.”

As the night progresses, Jongin gradually opens and reveals more of himself to Chanyeol. The older man learns that the boy is only twenty-one years old, he’s a performing arts major in college and works at a dance studio teaching small children basic ballet. When he’s not doing anything else, he’s a street performer.

The boy is a rather fascinating specimen and Chanyeol finds himself getting incredibly attracted, like moth to flame.

When they part ways, Jongin gives him the address of his workplace, the dance studio where he works at and Chanyeol promises to see him in immediate.

 

Chanyeol haphazardly hits one on speed dial the moment he steps out of the restaurant. There’s a lighted a cigarette loosely dangling between his fingers, he takes one long drag at seconds interval until the call finally connects. Chanyeol smiles. “ _I swear to god Park Chanyeol, you better have a reason for calling or I’m cutting your balls off.”_

“Can’t you spare me at least a greeting Baek? You’re always so fucking hostile.”

Chanyeol hears shuffling in the background, some offended grunt and Baekhyun’s reassuring whispers. He rolls his eyes. _“What do you want Chanyeol?”_

“Uh, you?”

_“Chanyeol seriously?!”_

“I miss you Baek. You don’t even want me anymore.”

_“You miss fucking me, Chanyeol. You don’t miss me. And I’m trying to maintain a committed relationship here, you’re not helping.”_

Chanyeol takes another long inhale before he’s stubbing the finished cigarette onto the cement. The director chuckles, “You’re really goddamned serious about that boy of yours. I’m jealous.”

Baekhyun scoffs into his ear. Chanyeol laughs.        

“Anyway, I called because I really need your help this time Baekhyun. I’m taking a creative break but the thing is, I signed for a film slotted for a summer release, next year. You think you could take over for me?”

_“Have you gone mad?”_

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you very much. So what do you say, Baek? Wanna take a hit for the team?”

_“Park Chanyeol you and I are not a team! And what do you mean taking over? Do you want to get sued? The answer is no!”_

“Come on Baek. The producer’s a friend, we can talk things through. And you should know that the film’s that mermaid fantasy flick we all know you secretly want to get your hands on. This is your forte Baekhyun, you’ll do loads better than me.”

Baekhyun answers him with a loud, frustrated sigh and Chanyeol knows he’s won. _“I don’t know Yeol, I’ll think about it.”_

“Thank you Baek I owe you one!”

When the call is finished, Chanyeol pockets his phone with a self-assuring grin drawn on his full lips. He’s not particularly sure where he’s headed with all his last-minute decisions and indecisive compulsions. Maybe he’s finally ran out of creative juices and he’s dealing with it the best way he can, by running away.

Chanyeol imagines Junmyeon’s would be fury once he finds out and he is rather apologetic. After all, it’s always Junmyeon running around trying to save his ass from the imminent dangers brought on by the paparazzi and their apparent life mission to never let him breathe. Chanyeol’s finally suffocated from that kind of life and he needs a break. A creative break, a permanent break, a semi-hiatus, no one really knows. Chanyeol’s trying to chase his muse and he would chase it until god knows when.

 

Chanyeol meets Jongin again, about three days later and after a bucketful of apologies uttered to Junmyeon. He’s thankful that Baekhyun finally agreed about directing the mermaid flick he’d abandoned. Junmyeon seemed to have given up on him all together and so he’s technically free to roam around a city he’d always been intimately familiar with in movie sets and yet a complete alienation in real life.

He’s lugging around two video cameras when he enters Jongin’s workplace. The dancer is wearing a loose white shirt and the snuggest pair of black tights that molded around his legs like second skin. Chanyeol screws his eyes shut and banishes all kinds of unwholesome images his mind had managed to conjure in such a flickering moment. Chanyeol feels like he’s sinning.

To distract himself, Chanyeol randomly sets up the cameras around the vicinity.

Jongin’s probably forgotten all about their agreed arrangement and it would have insulted Chanyeol if he wasn’t too busy ogling Jongin’s thighs as he danced on the tips of his toes. The sight is enthralling. There’s no showcase of elaborate choreography and teasing facial expressions, rather, there’s glee. Jongin carefully instructs his students, a bunch of four-year-olds bubbling with childish laughter. The children somehow manage to follow Jongin’s relatively simple movements without the inherent grace their little bodies possess.

Jongin does a simple twirl and the children quickly copy his movements. A little girl in a bright green tutu suddenly falls on her behind when she tries to attempt the move herself and this instigates laughter from those surrounding her. The girl looks utterly confused at first but then her face contorts and in three seconds she’s bawling. Fat, unhappy tears run their trail down her flushed cheeks. Jongin’s reaction is immediate. He quickly runs over and cradles the girl to his arms, patting her back in gentle consolation.

The sight is overwhelming. Chanyeol almost couldn’t wrap his head around the technicalities and the many facets of Jongin’s personality and yet the image of Jongin, cradling a sobbing child made Chanyeol’s heart race. Chanyeol couldn’t place as to why his blood pumping organ did that, it just did. Maybe he needs a smoke, or two, to calm his nerves.

Jongin finally notices him not ten minutes later. Recognition immediately lights Jongin’s face into a small smile. He’s already ushering the children out of the studio while Chanyeol’s busy snapping random photos with his mobile phone.

“I’m still very confused as to why you’d ever want to film me.” Jongin says as he wipes the sweat off his face, “I’m not the nicest subject and all and I’d probably mar your portfolio. I didn’t think you were serious about this whole thing, Chanyeol-ssi.”

Chanyeol clicks his tongue, “That’s not true. I see something special in your dancing and it’s more than worthy to be included in my measly portfolio. You don’t need to concern yourself with that one.”

Jongin furrows his eyebrows when he turns around. Chanyeol couldn’t help but stare at the dancer as he suddenly peels off his slightly soaked shirt and pull a ratty T-shirt down his sinful frame. There’s a lump in Chanyeol’s throat and something is pressing against his chest, he couldn’t breathe.

“Alright.” Jongin drags the word out, he stares at Chanyeol. “I’m teaching another batch of students in the next ten minutes. Will you be alright just watching Chanyeol ssi?”

Chanyeol eagerly nods his head.

Chanyeol really should have told Jongin that he is very beautiful. Then, he wouldn’t have been scaring the dancer for his unusually long bouts of intense staring. Jongin’s teaching a contemporary hip-hop routine to a couple of college age people and his demeanor had turned a complete three hundred sixty. Gone were his gleeful laughter and bright smiles, instead, Chanyeol sees an almost familiar stranger, like the performer he watches on the streets of Hongdae but without the blitheness. Jongin’s a great teacher as much as Chanyeol is concerned but he’s not sure as to why Jongin’s students could even learn when the dancer is sin personified wrapped in a pretty package.

Chanyeol lets the cameras run; get as much footage as he can. He doesn’t know where he’s going with this but he knows the result would be his magnum opus.

The session is finished and soon the students begin filing out of the studio. Jongin is obviously tired when he shoots Chanyeol a timid smile. The director is packing his equipment, still in relative awe of the younger man.

“Do you want to get a late lunch?” It’s currently five in the afternoon, Chanyeol doesn’t even notice. Jongin accepts his invitation however and they’re out of the dance studio in no time.

 

Chanyeol doesn’t really talk a lot out of movie sets and yet he finds himself wanting to fill the silence that has formed like a wet cloud surrounding them. Jongin seems to be wary of him still and Chanyeol wants the younger to think of him otherwise. He talks.

“My presence must be spooking you out.” Chanyeol jokes as he swiftly turns the wheel.

Jongin chuckles, “Not really. I’ve had random people taking videos of me when I perform on the streets. It’s just that your pretty insistent Chanyeol-ssi.”

“Does my being insistent bother you?”

Jongin glances at him, a look of slyness on his handsome, young face. “Are you really asking me that question?”

“Pays to be honest.”

“A little bit, I guess. But you seem harmless and I assume you’re going to be buying me a late lunch. Hope it’s not like that restaurant you took me the first time though, the food was…” The boy proceeds to produce a sound akin to shuddering disgust and Chanyeol laughs.

“What would you like then?”

“Chicken is fine, Chanyeol-ssi. Thank you.”

 

They end up taking away a bucket of chicken and some side dishes. They’re leaning against the hood of Chanyeol’s expensive SUV. Jongin sloppily munches into his chicken and Chanyeol continues to watch him without concealing his amusement.

“Do you live with your parents?” Chanyeol asks.

Jongin ceases chewing and slowly shakes his head. “No. They’re in Suncheon.”

“Oh, so you live alone?”

Jongin nods. A gust of strong wind blows his hair into further disarray and dismally, Chanyeol notices that his previous exuberance seemed to have been stamped out. He suddenly looks…sad

Jongin puts down his unfinished food and wipes his soiled fingers with a bunch of flimsy paper towels. There’s lethargy in his otherwise snappish movements. Chanyeol regrets ever talking. “Tell me about yourself, Chanyeol-ssi.”

“I try to be a director.” Chanyeol answers. It’s not a lie. “I’m searching for a muse, she seemed to have escaped me and recently I find myself producing very much non- substantial material. It’s frustrating.”

“Please don’t tell me you plan to make me your muse, I don’t make a particularly pretty muse, don’t I?”

Chanyeol looks at him a with a small smirk, “I’ll take what I can get.”

The conversation easily steers into comfortable ground after that. Jongin seemed to have momentarily forgotten whatever it is that made his mood plummet as he shared small anecdotes which revolved around dance in varying phases of his life and all the places it took him. It’s fascinating to be able to share such fiery passion that Chanyeol didn’t use to particularly care about. Jongin talked of dancing like he breathed it, and honestly, it’s the most attractive thing about the boy.

Chanyeol isn’t really that old but Jongin’s passion makes him feel a lot younger, like he’s a boy prancing in his early twenties instead of a man narrowly avoiding the obstacles of his early thirties.

Chanyeol drives him back to the studio minutes after eight o’clock. Jongin bids him goodbye in that endearing kind of way, his eyes curling into tiny crescents. Chanyeol’s beginning to become fond of it.

//

“It’s my dream stage.”

Chanyeol looks around the wide, albeit ancient theater. The place reeked of old leather, aged wood and years’ worth of memories held by generations of people. It’s rustic and beautiful. The curtains are down, deep blue velvet, cascading to the floor in a muted shimmer.

“It’s a beautiful place.” The director says, idly adjusting his tripod and video camera. Jongin’s beaming smile is very distracting and Chanyeol tries to look away, just for a second, he needs to catch his breath.

“It’s quite small. You know, someone of your caliber should aim for something like the GymnasticsArena or something.” Chanyeol pops the video camera in place and directs it in an angle facing the stage. Looking very thoughtful, he misses the slight flushing of the boy’s cheeks.

“What do you mean someone of my caliber, hyung?” Jongin chuckles, embarrassed, “I’m just a street performer and a part time instructor I don’t think I deserve such high praises.”

Chanyeol smiles when he hears the title. He’s been filming Jongin in the last three weeks and a few days before, the boy was finally comfortable enough to call him ‘hyung’. It’s embarrassing but Chanyeol likes it, a lot.

“Trust me, you’re good enough for big arenas. Why don’t you try it, join a dance troupe or be a backup dancer for those shiny performers? Get a feel on a stage in front of a bigger audience.”

“I don’t know. I don’t really see myself like that. I love smaller theaters and wooden stages better than flashing lights and screaming crowds. It’s the connection with the audience that matters to me.”

As if something had snapped, Chanyeol turns to look at Jongin. He’s not sure what kind of expression is on his face since the dancer furrows his eyebrows at him in return. Jongin’s words resonated with him and cut through in a way that’s too close. Connection, maybe that’s what’s missing.

Unlike Jongin, Chanyeol’s passion for his craft has long been snuffed out. His love for films becomes nothing when faced with proposals that he would gradually hate but would end up having long queues for the box office. He remembers having the same passionin his twenties, a film major who smoked too much and loved directing, filming and photography like his life depended on it. Chanyeol had that connection – with people, with his audience. He knew what he wanted and visualized it in his head the way he wanted it done. Chanyeol couldn’t remember how that felt like.

Passion, it’s almost a faint memory, like it happened and it didn’t at the same time.

“Chanyeol hyung?”

“Hmm?”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Chanyeol shakes his head, he gets the urge to hug Jongin but stomps it off before it consumes him, “I thought about what you said and I think you’re right. I guess it’s crucial to impart a kind of feeling to your audience more than anything else. I’m sorry about what I said.”

“It’s okay. But what are we doing here again?”

“You dance, like what you always do.”

“What?”

Chanyeol gestures to the curtained stage. “Just take the stage Jongin and do your thing.”

Jongin hesitates for all three seconds before taking easy steps towards the stage. Chanyeol lets the cameras run without bothering to recheck if he’s got the angles in place. This wouldn’t be a film, this would only be a compilation of sorts, he tries to make it as raw as possible. There wouldn’t be any post processing, no scripts, just Jongin and he hopes it would be enough to build a connection.

And there is really something indescribable about Jongin. His dancing is a kind of art, and Chanyeol may not really know anything about the fineries of dancing but Jongin has said it himself, it wasn’t about the fancy stages or screaming crowds or flashing lights. It’s about the feeling, and Chanyeol confesses that he gets overwhelmed watching Jongin at times. There’s no music but somehow, Chanyeol hears it through Jongin. It’s like his art speaks volumes even in absolute quietude.

Chanyeol just watches. He appreciates the way Jongin moves his arms and legs in such ways that’s too breathtaking. There’s a constant smile on Jongin’s plush lips, and his eyes are closed in bliss. He’s beautiful.

It must have been minutes until Jongin ceases, to inhale needed oxygen. Chanyeol produces an applause for the dancerwhich diminutively resounds through the small building. He smiles at Jongin. “So, you got your footage?” Chanyeol nods and picks one of the camera stand and directs it at Jongin who’s looking very much conscious of himself. “What are you doing?” Chanyeol shrugs, “Just wanted to film, you looked very –“ beautiful, “ready for the camera.”

The statement eventually makes Jongin laugh as he descends from the stage. He pushes down the camera, beaming at Chanyeol. “So now that you got your footage can we get noodles?”

“Of course,” Chanyeol wants to ruffle the dancer’s sweaty hair and maybe lean forward to kiss him, “Do you want chicken with that?”

“I never say no to chicken, hyung.”

 

They’re sitting outside a packed restaurant somewhere in the city. Jongin’s chattering about his teammates and Chanyeol finds himself hanging unto the other’s words with rapt attention. It’s quite fascinating that they’ve become adjusted to each other’s presence, like they’ve been friends for years.

“Will you ever show me the whole thing?” Jongin asks him, they’re – well, Jongin – is having chicken as usual and Chanyeol resorts to just watching him. He’s blowing out puffs of nicotine, polluting the air with cigarette smoke and tar. Jongin doesn’t look like he minds, and Chanyeol just really needed a smoke. 

“Of course.” Chanyeol answers. Jongin looks at him with that expression again and his boyish face almost unnerves Chanyeol. “Do you wish it’d be over soon so that you could get rid of me?”

Chanyeol’s joking of course but the prospects of leaving whatever this he has going on with Jongin and returning to his mundane life, doesn’t exactly sit well with him.

“No,” Jongin tells him. “I’ve become somewhat fond of you, hyung.” There’s a small smile on the dancer’s face. He picks at his food and lets the sentence hang unfinished.

“We’ll see where this would lead us Jongin, but I’m glad that I’m not scaring you anymore.”

“You’re harmless and you’re actually a good person hyung.”

“No one’s ever convinced me of that before.” Chanyeol says, he stubs his cigarette halfway through the filter, “should I take your word for it? Am I really a good person Jongin?”

And Jongin looks at him, sincerely and nods.

“I think so. I think you’re a great person, Chanyeol.”

 

 

//

Chanyeol mumbles unintelligible words to Baekhyun’s neck. He’s tearing at the cinematographer’s clothes and Baekhyun’s panting underneath him. “Chanyeol?”

“Hmm?” he plants kisses down the other man’s jugular, he’s probably hurting Baekhyun by how strong he’s gripping the other by the waist. “Fuck, Chanyeol, stop.” Baekhyun practically shoves the taller away from him and Chanyeol just slumps beside the other man and stares at the ceiling. “What’s the problem?” Baekhyun asks, “Two years we’ve been doing this and you’ve never been this distracted.”

Chanyeol shrugs, rakes a palm down his obsidian hair and sighs. Eventually, he rises, grabs the idle bottle of bourbon they’d been drinking prior to getting frisky, and downs a portion that burns. “Did I ever tell you ‘bout the reason why I quit that summer flick I passed you?”

Baekhyun shakes his head, he’s already lighting a cigarette and traps it in between his lips. Sometimes Chanyeol still gets distracted of the way the stick sits upon Baekhyun’s feminine fingers. “No, you’re reminding me of Sehun again, fuck.”

Chanyeol chuckles. “When have you ever sustained a non-destructive relationship, Baek? We’re both fucked up as it is. What makes you think you found love?”

“Fuck you, Yeol.” Baekhyun grabs another stick but before he could start chaining, Chanyeol quickly snatches the already lighted cig from the man. Baekhyun glares at him. “But what about the thing you mentioned?”

Chanyeol inhales and as he closes his eyes it’s Jongin that he sees, like a spectral permanently burned behind his eyelids. “There’s this boy I found dancing in Myeongdong. He’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” the cigarette is pressed against his lips and he inhales, “Baekhyun he’s something else and I just wanted to, I don’t know, capture that perfection in film.”

Baekhyun scoffs, “What, you wanna process and bottle perfection now huh, Park? Wasn’t aware you were the type to sell dreams.”

“It’s not like that, fuck, it’s not like that. It’s just, it’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it Chanyeol. We both wanted a good fuck and you’re too distracted so uncomplicate it.”

Chanyeol stares at the other man and he doesn’t know what to say. Because honestly, how does one even explain the intricacies of Kim Jongin? “His dancing makes the audience…feel. His art isn’t like ours. It’s not contained, it’s not artificial. It’s just…”

“It’s what Chanyeol?”

“It connects. It has substance.”

This time, Baekhyun laughs, like Chanyeol’s said something hilarious, like Chanyeol didn’t just bear his insides for the taking. He wanted to sock Baekhyun on his face. “Since when did you care about substance and connection Chanyeol, you’ve stopped caring the first time you hit it big time.” The man says matter of fact. “The thing is, that’s what we exchange for money and fame, you don’t get to make anything substantial because substantial doesn’t sell. We’re businessmen Chanyeol, we’re not artists. Well, we used to be, but not anymore.”

Of course, he’s right. Baekhyun’s always right. They weren’t artists anymore, they were just highly paid directors and filmmakers who didn’t even perform a quarter of what’s written in their job descriptions. And yes, Chanyeol has the authority for the bulk of his films but in the end, he screens what he does and filters out aspects that wouldn’t bring in money. It’s like his head is programmed to think that his art, his films wouldn’t deserve titular success if its ticket sales tank in the process.

After all, his personal satisfaction on his projects would hardly matter if compared to its selling power. Money indeed runs the world.

“We need to stop being so fanciful Chanyeol. We don’t get shit done by being fanciful. We’re better off practical.”

Yes, but sometimes.

Sometimes Chanyeol wants to be fanciful.

Baekhyun climbs over and straddles him. “Just stop thinking.”

Chanyeol leans forward and latches his lips upon Baekhyun’s neck and then forgets. But when he closes his eyes and feels Baekhyun’s touch, it’s Jongin that he sees.

//

Chanyeol’s early the next morning. It’s eight and he’s pacing in front of the dance studio Jongin works at. Usually, on odd days, it’s Jongin who opens and Chanyeol likes seeing him first thing in the morning.

It’s Taemin, Jongin’s co-instructor, who opens the studio, fifteen after eight. He nods Chanyeol a drowsy good morning and Chanyeol smiles his greeting.

“Is Jongin around?”

“Oh yeah, he’s upstairs being a lazy ass.”

Chanyeol chuckles, “He’s teaching basic ballet today right?”

“He’s slated for that today, but he’s injured right now and his ortho’s gonna bitch if he does as little as stand up.”

“He’s injured?”

“Yup, but he’s okay. He’s inside Chanyeol-ssi.”

Chanyeol nods, quickly dashing inside the studio. He sees Jongin sitting on his behind, staring at his reflection on the floor length mirrors. His right leg is bundled in a blue cast. Suddenly, Chanyeol becomes almost nauseated with worry and he’s not sure as to why that is. “Jongin?”

Jongin looks up and he sees Chanyeol’s reflection from the wall mirrors. There’s a huge smile on his face. Chanyeol’s heart momentarily forgets to pump.

“Hyung!”

The dancer supports himself with a pair of stainless crutches. Chanyeol eyes the contraption and immediately notices that the crutches don’t look like they’ve been bought recently.

 “What happened to you?” Jongin doesn’t answer, instead he tries to move forward and as Chanyeol had been expecting, almost falls face first if it weren’t for Chanyeol’s quick reflexes. “Jongin?”

The dancer laughs, expression sheepish. “It’s been a year since I last used these bad boys.” Jongin says pertaining to his stainless crutches. “I’m out of touch.”

Chanyeol sighs, and helps the dancer wobble into position. “What happened?”

“Oh, pirouette landed on the wrong foot, slightly pulled a ligament. I’m okay hyung, it happened before.”

“You worry me, Jongin.”Chanyeol tells the dancer as they sit down. Chanyeol’s leaning against the mirror and he’s watching Jongin whose fingers are doing an elaborate arabesque on the floor, a wistful smile on his lips.

“Do you always get injured?”

“Once or twice a year.” Jongin answers, “I was injured a lot last year and I was beginning to think I was gonna become a steel bear with all the temporary casts and implants.”

Chanyeol smiles, and ruffles the dancer’s hair. “Is there a reason why you chose a bear of all things?”

“Because bears are cute.” Jongin shrugs, “They eat people yes, but bears are really, really cute.”

“Like you.”                                           

Jongin colors deeply at Chanyeol’s teasing and he seriously couldn’t get more adorable than that. Chanyeol thinks he’s going to go into cardiac arrest with how fast his heart is beating. “Why are you still here Jongin? Shouldn’t you be resting at home instead?”

Jongin sheepishly smiles at him, he’s scratching the back of his neck in a gesture of almost embarrassment. “The thing is, I live in this studio Chanyeol hyung. I don’t really have an apartment.”

To understate things, Chanyeol is very surprised. He bolts up and practically yells, “What do you mean?” to a chuckling Jongin.  “The studio is different from a home Jongin. And you’re injured, of all things, you need someone to look after you.”

“I know that Chanyeol. But I can’t really afford to rent my own place right now so I’m freeloading for a while. I did live with my sister for about two weeks before I moved here. She’s very busy juggling her kids and her career and I just didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Come live with me then.”

Like usual, the offer evades Chanyeol even before he can think things through. Jongin’s staring at him as if he’s gone mad. “What?”

“Live with me.” Chanyeol reiterates because screw it, the prospects of living with Jongin seemed a lot better than letting the dancer sleep on hard, wooden floors. “I’m not a good cook but I can take care of you.”

Jongin answers his offer by laughing. Chanyeol does not understand where the younger’s amusement is coming from because, to reiterate, Chanyeol is very, very serious with his offer.

“What’s so funny?” Chanyeol’s raising his phone to take a picture of Jongin laughing because it’s an adorable sight.

“Are you serious?”

Chanyeol’s left brow hitches upward. He snaps three more pictures of Jongin before finally putting his phone away. “Of courseI was serious. What makes you think, I’m not?”

“You’re too generous Chanyeol hyung.” Jongin tells him, “You shouldn’t go around opening your doors to homeless people. Everyone’s not as nice as me you know.” The final statement is a general tease but Chanyeol couldn’t help but agree, Jongin is nice – more than nice to be precise.

“Does this mean you’ll live with me?”

“No.” Jongin shakes his head. “Thanks for the offer but I’m good Chanyeol. I can handle myself.”

“If that’s the case, then let me drive you to your parents instead. Forgive my old man tendencies, but I really can’t function knowing that you’re injured without anyone looking after you. At least let your mom fuss or something.”

Chanyeol’s not sure where his generosity is coming from. He’s not usually too inclined on driving more than a hundred miles just to get people to their hometowns. But Jongin’s looking at Chanyeol with a sort of admiration in his eyes and it sends a kind of warmth that wraps itself around Chanyeol’s heart. It makes Chanyeol want to do everything for Jongin.

“Please?” Jongin finally replies. He looks embarrassed but he steadily meets Chanyeol’s gaze. “I kind of miss my mom and my dogs a lot.”

//

The drive to Suncheon is relatively calm interspersed with Jongin’s random spiels of short anecdotes. Chanyeol’s let him occupy the backseat of his SUV where it’s spacious so that he could stretch his legs and not further his injury in any sense of the word. They stop halfway through Suncheon to eat.

 Chanyeol helps Jongin wobble out of his vehicle. The dancer leans onto him and Chanyeol really likes the press of Jongin’s skin against his.

“I didn’t tell eomma I’d be going home.” Jongin says, silently chewing on his food. His face is set into a bright smile. “I’m very, very excited.” The boy’s enthusiasm makes Chanyeol happy, happier even, that Jongin’s finally allowed him to give back something in return.

“I’m sure your mother’s going to be very happy to see you as well, Jongin. But I do hope that you’re not wearing a leg cast the next time we visit. What will your parents think of me?”

“Don’t worry, eomma will just think that you’re very, very handsome.” Chanyeol stops sipping his coffee and he turns to look at Jongin, whose olive skin is rapidly blossoming into a pretty shade of red. He’s a sight that gradually lurks in the precipice of Chanyeol’s mind, a space intended for thoughts, urges and feelings that he’d rather not harbor for the younger.

But Jongin bravely meets his gaze after indirectly admitting the fact that Chanyeol’s physical beauty is more than pleasing to the eyes. It gives Chanyeol a gratifying sense of personal satisfaction. “And why do you think your mother will find me handsome?” Chanyeol taunts, leaning closer towards Jongin that he’s almost touching the dancer’s still flushed cheeks. “Do you think, I’m handsome Jongin?”

Jongin simply chuckles and shoves Chanyeol weakly. “Stop being such a conceited grandpa.”

Chanyeol slaps a hand to his chest, as if he’s affronted instead of plainly amused. “Excuse me, I don’t even have children, yet.”

“Oh, you will.” Jongin retracts his gaze, and he looks quite thoughtful as he finishes his statement. “Marry a pretty girl and you can have babies with her.”

Chanyeol chuckles, “I’ll never marry a pretty girl because I don’t like women Jongin. Matter of fact, I never liked them since I was thirteen.”

Chanyeol lets his words sink in because admitting his sexual preference always manages to surprise people (whether plain surprised or disgust doesn’t matter to Chanyeol). He’s been featured quite a lot of times in random gossip tabloids with random men hanging off his arm and he has long learned to, crudely put, not give a shit.

He waits for Jongin’s reaction and he’s suddenly on edge. But instead of saying anything else, Jongin just smiles at Chanyeol. “Marry a pretty boy then and you could adopt.”

Relieved. Chanyeol’s very relieved to have heard that coming from Jongin, who’s slowly becoming Chanyeol’s object of affection. He smiles, just because he could and because Jongin makes him happy.

//

Chanyeol wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it’s not anything like this.

To surmise, Jongin’s childhood home is very cozy. The color scheme reminds Chanyeol of his grandmother’s rest house in Busan – full of soft oranges and earthy browns. There’s a used couch on the middle of the sitting room, facing a fairly modern television set. Jongin’s three toy poodles excitedly come barreling through the threshold the moment the dancer limps inside. It’s a warm sight until a middle- aged woman, who’s obviously Jongin’s mother follows the source of the animals’ excited barking.

“Who are you? Why didn’t you ring the bell?”

The look of complete confusion is evident upon the woman’s face that Chanyeol immediately removes the possibility that she’d been bluffing. She continues to stare at Jongin and not quite moving from her position. “Jungah, someone’s here!”

At the call, a slender woman comes down the stairs. She’s clad in a loose sweater and some leggings and tendrils of her long black hair fall from the loose bun on top of her head, she smiles upon the sight of Jongin.

“Noona.”

“Jungah, is this young man your visitor?”

The family members stare at each other and as the matriarch’s face morphs into clear confusion while the seconds tick by, Jongin’s expressions turns somber and somber. Chanyeol wants to pull Jongin towards him and apologize at this seemingly uncomfortable and hurtful situation Chanyeol’s put him through even though Chanyeol hasn’t an idea what’s actually happening.

Jungah steps closer and wraps an arm around the older woman’s waist. “Mom, it’s Jongin. He’s your son.”

“Jongin?”

Jongin steps forward and loses his balance, his crutches clatter to the ground and before Chanyeol’s reflexes could catch up, the older lady has immediately moved forward to save her son from toppling to the floor. The swiftness of the action, puts a smile on Chanyeol’s face.

“Jongin.” the woman reiterates, helping Jongin balance. She still sounds a little confused when she helps Jongin stand up. Jongin smiles at his mother and kisses her soundly on the cheek. “Eomma! It’s your handsome youngest! How could you forget. I’m hurt.”

Chanyeol knows Jongin is truly hurting. His chirpy tone doesn’t evade Chanyeol’s eye for acting. He thinks Jongin’s pretty good at it. He awaits the matriarch’s reaction to Jongin’s sudden kiss and to Chanyeol’s relief, a look of familiarity finally transforms the woman’s confused face into that of fond happiness.

“Jongin.”

 

//

Dinner is a boisterous affair even with just four people around the oval dining table. Chanyeol sits beside Jongin and he calmly watches the dancer converse with his sister and mother. This time, recognition has completely settled on the oldest lady’s face and she’s been fussing about Jongin’s injury and inquiring over his general well-being. Jongin basks under his mother’s attention. His smiles may be tinged with something akin to sadness but Chanyeol happily notes that the boy, seemed content just to be in his mother’s presence.

Chanyeol gives himself a pat to the back for that.

 

“Eomma, I’m just going to tour Chanyeol around the village. We’ll be back soon!”

“Take care.”

Chanyeol doesn’t react. He looks at Jongin who simply shakes his head and mouths something Chanyeol doesn’t catch. The director nods anyway. They step out of the quaint house and he hears Jongin steal a deep inhale, the ends of his metal crutches scratch against the pavement.

The air is crisp in this part of Suncheon. The village is quiet but not necessarily asleep. Houses are still lighted and the streets are brightly illuminated.

Chanyeol doesn’t talk as he waits for Jongin to open his mouth. He contents himself with finding better video angles to take with his phone’s mediocre camera. When he raises the device to Jongin’s face, the screen displays the boy’s downturned lips. Chanyeol stares at him and asks, “Are you okay?”

Jongin answers by shuffling forward, invading Chanyeol’s personal space by pressing his face against the older man’s chest. Jongin’s crutches clatter to the ground as Chanyeol wraps a long arm around the boy’s body to pull him closer.

Jongin’s sadness seemed to leak into Chanyeol’s chest, his tears gradually wetting the fabric of Chanyeol’s shirt. Chanyeol doesn’t know how to comfort Jongin and to his sheer disbelief, it unnerves him.

They remain standing under the street lamp; the seconds bled into minutes. It felt like a long, long time before Jongin manages to detach his face from Chanyeol’s chest. His olive skin is splotchy under the harsh lighting and if it weren’t for his apparent sadness, Chanyeol would have smiled because he looked rather beautiful.

Jongin haphazardly wipes at his face, wobbling on his good foot as Chanyeol picks up his fallen crutches. “I’m sorry hyung.”

“You can always talk to me.” Chanyeol says quietly, letting Jongin lean against his body. “Please? I don’t like seeing you so sad.”

“I’m not sad.” Jongin’s chuckles negate his statement. He sounds self-deprecating and it grates at Chanyeol’s nerves. “I’m just overwhelmed is all.”

Chanyeol gazes at the younger and asks in the steadiest voice he could muster, “What happened to your mother?”

In retrospect, the statement is truly tactless but Chanyeol badly wanted to get to the bottom of the story because more than anything, he wanted to comfort Jongin.

“She has selective memory loss.” Jongin answers. His crutches produce a melodic tapping against the cemented pavement. “And it’s all because of me. It’s complicated. She knows she has three kids, but she’s conveniently forgotten her youngest. She remembers sometimes – if something triggers it – it’s fine by me, really. I wouldn’t want her to remember all the pain I’ve put her through. It’s better like this.”

“It’s obviously not better like this.” Chanyeol answers, cupping Jongin’s face to wipe away the stray tears, “You’re hurting. I can see it.”

Jongin averts his gaze. He’s staring at his shoes as if it’s ratty surface is entirely the most interesting thing in the universe. “What can I do, hyung?” comes the whispered rhetoric. “I should be thankful that she still recognizes me when prompted, than forgetting about me all together. And in the first place, it was all my fault.”

“Unless you physically caused your mother this illness, then it’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself for something brought about by random circumstances even if you’re involved. It’s not your fault.”

Jongin chuckles and it’s hollow and broken. He wobbles and sits himself on the sidewalk, stretching his legs and setting his crutches aside. “It _is <i/>_my fault. If she didn’t support her rebellious son in all his juvenile whims then she wouldn’t have gotten into an accident that almost took her life and erased most of her memories. If she wasn’t the perfect mother who loved her children a tad _too <i/>_much then she wouldn’t be in this situation. My mother led a great life and I’ve indefinitely ruined it for her.”

Chanyeol frowns.“I’m going to go ahead and assume things.” The older says, sitting beside Jongin on the pavement, uncaring if his expensive designer jeans gets scuffed by the cement. “Your mother got into an accident that must have had something to do with you and you’re blaming yourself for it.”

Jongin shakes his head, “She supports my passion but I know she wants me to do something more worthwhile with my life. I made her follow me to Seoul, she got into that accident. No matter how I look at it, it all boils down to me. I am at fault.”

“You’re owing up to something that is no one’s fault, Jongin. These things, they’re all just products of unfortunate circumstances.” Chanyeol tries to inject just the right tone of thoughtful to his voice.“Your mother loves you, she wants you to follow your dreams and you did just that. You shouldn’t beat yourself up for things that was out of your control. And yes, what happened to your mother was unfortunate, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“But then again, she lost all her memories of me and only me.”

“She didn’t.” Chanyeol reiterates, smiling softly. “Your mother hasn’t completely forgotten about you. She may forget from time to time but somewhere in there, she remembers. Her mind may have blurry memories of you but her heart recognizes her son. It’s apparent. You make her proud Jongin and I say that she’s quite lucky to have you as her son.”

Jongin smiles and yet again, invades Chanyeol’s space. He slightly leans onto the older man’s shoulder and says, “You’re so adult…you say all the right things. I feel like I’m a child.”

This makes Chanyeol laugh and he throws an arm around Jongin’s shoulder. “Hardly. I’ve made years’ worth of shitty decisions to get to this point. Anyway, It’s getting chilly here, do you want to go back?”

Jongin nods and grasps for his crutches. Chanyeol helps him up and the younger unsteadily stands on his good feet.

 

“Do you think your mother would be fine with me sleeping over?” Chanyeol inquires as soon as they’re standing on the porch.

“Pretty sure. But my room’s tiny and my bed’s tiny.”

“I can take the floor.”

Jongin shrugs, he opens the door. It’s almost ten in the evening and yet Jongin’s mother is still lounging on the sitting room, apparently waiting for her son while she entertained herself with prime-time television.

“Eomma.” Jongin begins to say, hobbling over. He sits beside her and tucks his head under her chin. The old woman merely smiled at the gesture and pats her son’s head affectionately. “You should go to sleep. I asked your sister to move new sheets into your room.”

Chanyeol watches the sight and he suddenly gets the urge to fish his phone out of his pocket and call his mom. He’s thirty-one years old and lived quite a hedonistic lifestyle and seeing such fondness unfold before his very eyes makes him miss his mother. He ends up quietly chuckling to himself.

 

Jongin’s bed isn’t too tiny but it is a bit cramped for two people.

Chanyeol lays some of the comforters on the floor. Jongin looks at him worriedly. “Maybe we could share the bed?” Jongin suggests, patting the free side next to him. Chanyeol shakes his head. “It’s tiny and you’re injured. It’ll be okay, Jongin.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” The director messes up his hair. “Now let’s go to sleep. This old man is tired.”

“Okay.”

Chanyeol doesn’t exactly fall asleep as Jongin has a nightlight on and any lighting considerably triggers Chanyeol’s insomnia. He stares at Jongin’s face – instead -  relaxed in sleep. Chanyeol thinks the dancer is ethereal and the urge to touch his face is unbearably strong. Chanyeol fights it off by directing his phone’s mediocre video camera on Jongin’s sleeping features. In retrospect, the act is, to such an extent, creepy but Chanyeol couldn’t help it. He’s addicted to all things beautiful and Jongin is probably one of the most beautiful there is.

Chanyeol was too busy admiring the dancer’s face to notice how fast his heart raced.

//

Chanyeol lets the phone vibrate inside his pocket. He knows it’s probably one of Junmyeon’s many pesky assistants and honestly, Chanyeol’s enjoying his new-found freedom far too much to care. Currently, his eyebrows are furrowed in distress.

It’s three days after their impromptu visit to Jongin’s family home and currently, Jongin’s reclined on a hospital bed as his orthopaedist pores over his cast clad leg.

“Will he be okay?” Chanyeol couldn’t stop himself from asking at the slightest sign of discomfort on Jongin’s part. The doctor nods and he turns to the resident beside him who is writing things on Jongin’s chart.

“We will be removing the cast today. But it’s important to not put any strain on that leg yet. It’s still healing and you wouldn’t want to aggravate the whole process.”

The doctor’s telling all this to Jongin but it’s Chanyeol’s who’s hanging to the professional’s every word with rapt attention. “Moving around would be okay. Go slowly when you’re using the stairs, a light walk around your apartment complex would also do some good. But for now, no running and specially no dancing just yet.”

Chanyeol nods. The cast finally comes off and the jubilant expression on Jongin’s face is priceless. Chanyeol is very happy for him.

 

//

“I really don’t feel good about leaving you in the dance studio.” Chanyeol begins to say as he slowly pulls out the parking lot, “Will you please just stay with me in the apartment? What if an emergency comes up? Your studio is too far from the hospital and mine’s like a three-minute drive. It’s safer.”

“But hyung wouldn’t I be imposing too much?”

“You’re not imposing. To be honest, I’m doing this for my own sanity. I can’t sleep knowing that you’re in that dance studio lying on the cold wooden floor. Plus, you might get tempted to dance and you heard what the doctor said. So please, just until you can finally dance. I can’t cook but I promise I’ll feed you.”

“Okay hyung, you win. Let’s go to the studio first, I need to get my things.”

Chanyeol sighs in relief, he turns to smile at the younger man and when he’s about to open his mouth to express just how relieved he is, Jongin beats him to it by leaning forward and pressing his lips on the corner of Chanyeol’s mouth. It’s over even before Chanyeol notices and he simply blinks back at Jongin’s who’s flushing but is also determinedly meeting his gaze. “Thank you hyung. I owe you a lot.”

Chanyeol doesn’t get to reply. He tries to calm the beating of his heart and to his utter dismay, his efforts are futile.

He feels Jongin’s lips against his skin long into the afternoon, it makes him slightly dizzy.

//

Jongin wasn’t a good judge of character. Years back, he’d get mixed into the wrong crowd because he thought people had an inherent kindness in them and he believed that everyone had this kindness. He was naïve per se, until things went too wrong that he gradually became jaded by it all.

And that’s the reason why it took time to open up to Park Chanyeol.

Frankly, the older man scared Jongin at first due to his insistence. Jongin didn’t have a possible inkling as to what the man could have possibly wanted with him and he really didn’t believe that Chanyeol only wanted to film him.

Everyone had ulterior motives and he had to learn this the hard way.

But Chanyeol didn’t have any. He traipsed into Jongin’s moderately mundane life and somewhat made it better with his endless video cameras and long-winded explanations about cinematography. Learning to trust Chanyeol didn’t take very long and from there it kind of spiraled into this longing that Jongin wants to stomp dead.

It’s hard. Fighting Chanyeol’s effect on him is too hard, almost impossible. The older man is unfairly charming in his own mature way and Jongin sometimes finds himself wanting to fold in two and bask under Chanyeol’s endless attention.

It’s alarming.

Living with Chanyeol is a bad decision. A majorly _bad_ decision, Jongin is royally fucked.

 

It’s day three of playing house. It’s a Thursday and Jongin’s supposed to be in Myeongdong because Thursday is his day off at the dance studio and that’s when he becomes a street performer to bring in more dough. He thinks he’s alright and he could probably do a bit of stretching and some languid choreography but Chanyeol’s watching him like a hawk and any movement that involves even the littlest footwork makes the older man furrow his eyebrows in worry.

It’s charming.

“Let’s go out for dinner?” Chanyeol asks him. He’s unusually dressed down tonight – a pair of dark jeans and a cozy looking pullover – and Jongin thinks he looks too good. He unconsciously juts his lower lip. “Sure, but can we avoid Myeongdong?”

This confuses Chanyeol but he nods anyway, “Alright. I want _galbi.”_

 

The restaurant is packed for a Thursday night. They find a table at the farthest part of the restaurant and make themselves comfortable. They talk while they grill their food, Jongin watches Chanyeol drink through his first bottle of Soju as the meat cooks.

Chanyeol tells him about the last time he was here. He’s with his best friend, a slight man he called Baekhyun and how they got kicked out for being too drunk and too noisy.

“It’s a good thing that owners didn’t recognize me.” Chanyeol says as he shoves all the meat onto Jongin’s plate. “You’ll have to defend my innocence.”

Jongin laughs.

The dinner goes from amicable to comfortable and maybe it’s the slight alcohol in Jongin’s blood stream that makes him smile a bit more and laugh a little harder. Chanyeol makes him so inexplicably happy.

By the end of the dinner. They find themselves walking along the busy streets of Gangnam-gu. Jongin’s tipsier than Chanyeol but the latter had insisted that he’s also a bit dizzy. Jongin secretly smiles because he may or may not have wanted to walk around with Chanyeol, spend more time with him.

“I loved this movie.”  Jongin says after catching a glimpse of an old movie poster outside an old theater. It’s a coming of age film involving four main characters.

“It’s quite sad. It’s told in this compelling and miserable kind of way. I really liked it.” Jongin says and he turns to Chanyeol who’s staring at the poster with his impassive expression.

“The sales tanked.” Chanyeol comments, “Good reviews yes, but it’s sales didn’t even breach its budget. Unfortunate.”

“People likes to watch shitty films.” Jongin answers, “For the record, I also watch shitty films and sometimes shitty films entertain me a lot but this one, this one left a lingering feeling. It’s the kind of film that you’d think of days after leaving the cinema and I think that’s more important that just how fast the public gobbles it up.”

“Substance.” Chanyeol chuckles, “Do you think this film has substance?”

“Yes. It has emotions, felt real. Can we watch it?”

Chanyeol is thoughtful for three seconds and then he nods. Slowly, Jongin wraps his fingers around Chanyeol’s bicep and his smile must have looked inebriated.

Chanyeol doesn’t mind, he indulges Jongin and leads him inside the theater.

Jongin doesn’t even get to finish the movie. He’s drowsy and sleepy as he seeks the warmth from Chanyeol’s body. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him but these days, he craves Chanyeol’s attention like he’s starved.

“Jongin.” Chanyeol’s voice is a deep rumble that sends the slightest tingle down Jongin’s spine. He shudders. “Can you walk? Let’s go home.”

The dancer nods and his eyes miss, ‘Directed by C.Y Park’ as the film eventually ends.

It’s fifteen minutes shy of one in the morning. Jongin’s sleepy and slightly drunk, smiling into Chanyeol’s neck as they wobble out of the still highly illuminated street.

“Hyung,” he finds himself saying, “Thank you.”

Chanyeol ceases walking and the director stares at him, “For what?”

“For everything, I guess.”

“You went from being intimidated by me to being this cuddly monster. Did something happen?”

Jongin chuckles, “Nothing happened, you’re just handsome I guess.”

“Wow, are you complimenting me now?”

Jongin laughs.

“Let’s go home Jongin, you’re drunk.”

 

Back at the penthouse, it’s finally two A.M and despite the fogginess in Jongin’s brain, sleep doesn’t come to him. He stares across the hallway, to where Chanyeol’s bedroom is located and he finds himself compelled to stand up, like he’s being beckoned by some invisible force. He stands before Chanyeol’s door and slowly knocks.

“Jongin?” Chanyeol calls, sounding sleep roughened. Jongin is slightly sorry for derailing him from his sleep. The door opens and he’s staring at Chanyeol’s very bare, upper body. Jongin gulps, slowly regretting his decision.

“Do you need anything?”

Jongin nods, “Can we…can I –“

Chanyeol cocks his head, yawning. “Can’t sleep?”

Jongin nods. “Can I sleep with you?” well that’s confident. Jongin is thankful for the dim overhead lights because they conceal his flushed face. Chanyeol looks at him for all three seconds, Jongin slowly simmers under his gaze and it makes him squirm.

“Okay.” Is the clearly enunciated answer. Chanyeol’s smiling softly at him this time and the urge to fold himself in half reawakens.

They’re lying on Chanyeol’s king sized bed, three feet apart. Jongin feels so distant as he stares at Chanyeol’s sculpted back. He’s thinking of moving forward when Chanyeol shifts, faces him and without ado, gathers Jongin in a languid embrace.

“Sleep.” Chanyeol tells him. Jongin sinks into his warm embrace. Before finally falling into the clasps of Morpheus, Jongin feels Chanyeol’s lips brush his forehead and he thinks that maybe, just maybe he’s finally found a place for his wandering heart.

//

Jongin’s always thought of falling into a kind of enviable love. The kind where boy meets the girl next door and in the next thirty minutes, they’re in a whirlwind romance. He’s really fanciful but even the crappiest love stories will be nice for someone who’s incredibly infatuated.

But then again, Jongin’s figured out that he does not have the biggest affinity for the female anatomy and he’d rather fall in love with the gangly boy next door than any pretty girl. He’s also realized that it isn’t possible to fall into the perfectly enviable kind of love he’d always dreamt for himself because, well, that kind of love just doesn’t exist.

 

When he wakes up, his face is pressed against Chanyeol’s noticeable naked chest. Jongin couldn’t feel his face. Chanyeol’s scent diffuses right under his nose and it’s making him heady. He shifts and his knees brushes against the older man’s thigh. Chanyeol groans, a sound that stirs the deepest parts of Jongin’s wildest dreams.

 _Of fuck,_ he thinks, quickly turning around so that his back is facing Chanyeol’s chest.

”Jongin, _stop moving._ ” Chanyeol complains, wrapping strong arms around Jongin’s frame and that’s when Jongin feels it. Chanyeol crotch is pressing against his ass and _oh god, oh god, oh god, fuck what do I do?_

The dancer laughs unsteadily, Chanyeol’s labored breathing is the sound track to his slowly scattering wits. He’s acutely aware that Chanyeol is trying his damned hardest to calm his morning wood so he stays very, very _still_.

“Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me.” Chanyeol rumbles, “I swear to god, you’re really going to kill me.”

Jongin chuckles, “I’m sorry?”

Chanyeol slowly releases his hold and affectionately shoves Jongin away from him. “Just go Jongin, before I do something the both of us will regret.”

Jongin does stand up but he thinks of Chanyeol’s statement and he’s definitely sure that he wouldn’t have regretted whatever Chanyeol was planning to do to him.

 

Jongin is alerted to Chanyeol’s presence by the man’s body appearing from behind him. Chanyeol is in a wife beater and his sweatpants hung low on his hips, tendrils of his hair wet from the shower he must have recently taken. The dancer goes rigid as Chanyeol leans from behind his shoulder.

“You didn’t tell me you can cook.” Chanyeol comments as his rests his chin on Jongin’s shoulder. “That looks good.”

“It’s just fried rice and the kimchi you have in the fridge. There’s coffee on the pantry by the way.”

“You don’t need to bother yourself with cooking Jongin, we can just go down for some breakfast. There’s like a hundred cafés in the vicinity.”

“I’m just trying to become useful since I’m freeloading and all.”

“Your presence is already enough.” Chanyeol says. It causes a crazy amount of feelings; his stomach is in knots. Jongin thinks this couldn’t possibly be healthy.

Chanyeol’s apartment has a connected veranda that looks down on the busy streets of Gangnam-gu, from twenty floors up. It’s almost ten and yet the air is slightly less polluted from this height.

Jongin eats his kimchi fried rice and watches Chanyeol pour alcohol on his morning coffee. Jongin thought it was brandy. Chanyeol had chuckled at him, said ‘it’s bourbon Jongin.’ Jongin only ever drank beer and soju when his dance troupe chooses to get wasted on odd weekends, so he’s not familiar with the liquor. It’s bitter, scorching right to the back of his throat like liquid fire. He wonders why Chanyeol stirs a lot of it into his coffee.

“I miss seeing you dance.” Chanyeol quietly says. His last cigarette burns idly on the full ashtray beside him. He lights another – Jongin takes note that it’s already Chanyeol’s fourth stick – and he looks damn perfect leaning against the railing with a lighted cigarette dangling between his long fingers.

“You couldn’t possibly miss it more than I do.” Jongin replies, “I hate getting injured.”

“Your fans must miss you as well.”

“Well, I hope they do.” Jongin’s chuckling at the mention of his ‘fans’“My dance troupe’s going to hold another showcase in two months and if I want to join I better heal in five days because they’ll be starting rehearsals and I can’t miss that.”

“We should go see your ortho.”

//

Jongin gets the go signal from his doctor and he couldn’t be happier to finally _use_ his legs.

They celebrate of course, they eat takeaway from a chicken restaurant and Chanyeol gets an unopened bottle of Elijah Craig, a pail of ice and a couple of the crystal glasses he rarely uses.

The alcohol tastes so much better on the rocks, Jongin surmises. The bottle is almost finished and Jongin thinks he’s inexorably sloshed. He’s bowled over laughing for reasons he couldn’t remember, but he’s happy.

 

“You know what, l-let me dance for you.” He hears himself saying. Then he’s standing up and for three seconds the whole world is tipping over. He laughs drunkenly. “Oh wait, shit. I’m dizzy.”

Chanyeol chuckles. “Entertain me then.” He says before playing a song through his phone’s puny speakers. The song isn’t upbeat at all, it’s a slow number with numerous beat drops and jazz backings. Jongin closes his eyes, lets the music settle unto his bones then he dances. It’s slow and deliberate, hips swaying lazily as he moves his body. His hands running all over his torso. His shirt slightly hikes up providing Chanyeol a view of his sculpted front.

Jongin isn’t aware but he’s the picture of seduction.

_Fuck my whole existence_

He’s moving closer towards Chanyeol who’s still watching him behind his alcohol filled glass. Jongin’s in front of him, smirking drunkenly. The dancer runs his hands on Chanyeol’s shoulders, his crotch almost directly to Chanyeol’s face.

_Really, fuck it._

He stares at Chanyeol who’s staring back at him with pupils blown wide. Jongin’s breathing is slightly labored. Jongin doesn’t know what came over him when he directly straddles Chanyeol, his legs bracketing the other man’s thighs.

“Jongin.” It’s a sharp inhale when Jongin wraps his arms ‘round Chanyeol’s neck. “What the actual fuck are you doing?”

Jongin just stares at him and all the alcohol in his system is highlighting Chanyeol’s features and Jongin wants Chanyeol to touch him all over. _Oh, so this is what it feels like._

The dancer surges forward, unthinking, and kisses Chanyeol. It’s messy, Chanyeol’s mouth tastes of alcohol, cigarettes and something distinctly sweet. For a moment, their lips touch tenderly, carefully as if they’re finally breaching a new territory.

When they part Chanyeol’s stares at him and Jongin barely has time to breathe before Chanyeol reconnects the touch almost brutally. Jongin lets him and they’re kissing like the world’s going to end in the next hour. Chanyeol’s arms are around his torso, the hold is possessive and Jongin wants to melt.

_Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol._

“Touch me.” Jongin enunciates, begs. “Fuck me Chanyeol, do whatever you want to me. Please, _please –_ ”

Chanyeol’s moves away and kisses marks down his neck. Jongin’s breath hitches, “Fuck –“ he digs his nails on Chanyeol’s skin, the latter sinks his teeth on Jongin’s neck in retaliation. Jongin’s hard, grinds onto Chanyeol to seek relief. He’s going to combust.

“Chanyeol,” He gasps, “God – fuck, _please.”_

“Do you want me Jongin?”

Jongin chants a litany of _yes, yes, yes_. He thinks he’s probably going to die if Chanyeol doesn’t do something. And just as Jongin’s about to sob, Chanyeol’s hefting him up as he stands up. The amble to the nearest bedroom is awkward, Chanyeol’s resumed to kissing him, whispering words and promises into his neck that makes Jongin’s head spin and knees, weak.

When the back of his knees hits the bed, Chanyeol just shoves him down and they’re both too sloshed to care. Chanyeol’s gaze is predatory and the look directly goes to Jongin’s erection. His need apparent by the strain on his otherwise loose sweatpants.

The undressing goes surprisingly smoothly for two inebriated men. Chanyeol makes a show of removing the button down he’d worn to Jongin’s ortho appointment, Jongin salivates. His clothes slowly come off and then he’s lying naked for Chanyeol’s perusal, he feels so bare and so exposed and he _loves it_.

” _You’re so fucking beautiful._ ” Chanyeol whispers into his skin. Warm palms and long fingers bracketing the expanse of Jongin’s body. He shivers – in need – and presses himself to Chanyeol. The latter doesn’t heed Jongin’s want.

“Chanyeol p-please.”

Chanyeol presses a kiss to Jongin’s chest, his mouth wrapping around a nipple, his fingers toying with the other. Jongin’s back arches off the bed and he’s sure his three seconds away from actually crying. His cock brushes against Chanyeol’s clothed crotch and the stimulation is overwhelming.

Chanyeol removes his mouth, his kisses slowly moving south. Jongin’s aware that the older man is littering marks onto every surface of his body. Chanyeol’s kisses are heated, possessive, revering. Every bite, every nip onto Jongin’s skin indented with a praise, a confession laced with adoration.

Jongin’s drowning.                                                                         

Chanyeol whispers ‘perfect’ as he kisses the inner side of Jongin’s thigh, his fingers tracing inane patters onto the skin of Jongin’s hip. When his lips finally, _finally_ touch the crown of Jongin’s arousal, the dancer lets out a strangled moan. Chanyeol looks so fucking good between his legs, his pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

“C-Chanyeol, Chanyeol, fuck –“

Jongin falls apart.

When Chanyeol rises to kiss Jongin, the dancer could taste himself on Chanyeol’s mouth. It’s filthy and it makes Jongin’s body burn.

Jongin’s busy composing himself, that he doesn’t notice when Chanyeol opens the drawer retrieving a packet of condom and a bottle of unopened lubricant. Jongin watches as he languidly removes his pants, his erection is straining against the fabric of his underwear.

“Touch yourself.” Chanyeol demands, his bass voice somehow becoming an octave lower. Jongin shivers, he gets the lubricant and pours a copious amount on his fingers. Chanyeol watches as Jongin teases himself, lubed fingers slowly caressing his entrance. Jongin closes his eyes as his middle finger breaches in knuckle deep. It’s slightly uncomfortable as he’s drunk and it’s been a long time since he’s pleased himself. The thought that Chanyeol’s just there watching him makes him pump his finger faster, another finger slides into his entrance and he manages to brush the bundle of nerves that makes him shake down to his toes. Jongin curses and his eyes open wide when Chanyeol’s breath ghosts over his lips, whispering “Let me.”

Chanyeol’s slides a long finger into him successfully brushing his prostate. Jongin’s so hard, painfully. _“_ Chanyeol please.”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me – hell, _own me Chanyeol._ ”

The director curses turning Jongin’s body around so that he’s facing the pillows and his ass is on display.

Chanyeol’s very careful when he slides in, they both groan and Jongin almost collapses if it weren’t for Chanyeol’s hold around his torso. _“_ So tight, fuck. You feel so good baby.”

Jongin’s body responds to the praise and he’s then meeting Chanyeol languid but powerful thrusts, pushing back as he braces himself by a strong grip to the bed’s metal headboard. Chanyeol hits his prostate in one particularly strong move, drawing a moan from Jongin.

_“Faster.”_

Chanyeol complies, fisting Jongin’s cock in time to his thrusts. Jongin’s far gone, sobbing into the sheets.

“Chanyeol, I can’t, I can’t.”

“Let go Jongin.”

And Jongin does, his climax washes over him so powerfully he momentarily forgets how to breathe. Chanyeol holds him through it, kissing him as he finishes.

Jongin’s spent, boneless and completely under Chanyeol’s mercy. He feels like he’s been electrocuted, his body shuddering in overstimulation.

“God, you’re perfect.” Chanyeol tells him.

“Don’t.” Jongin warns, gasping as Chanyeol slips out of him. “I’m going to combust.”

He hears Chanyeol laugh, and sees him reaching over to grab a wet wipe from the night stand. He cleans Jongin’s body then his own before pulling away the dirtied sheets.

Jongin whines. “It’s cold.”

Chanyeol chuckles, “I’ll keep you warm.”

Jongin gladly rolls into his embrace and he falls asleep to Chanyeol’s lips brushing tenderly into his neck and Chanyeol’s hands caressing his back.

Jongin doesn’t dream that night.

 

The sunlight that cuts through the bedroom’s open window rouses Jongin. He blinks, groaning as pain blossoms from the back of his skull. He feels positively debauched, his body aches and a bit sore in select places. He flushes at the memory.

He’s naked – they’re naked – legs tangled upon white sheets. Jongin turns to press his face against the man beside him. Chanyeol’s smells of alcohol, nicotine and of Jongin. The dancer inhales.

“Are you alright?” Chanyeol asks. Jongin hadn’t noticed he was already awake. Jongin needs.

“I’m so sorry.” Chanyeol embrace tightens as he leaves a lingering kiss on Jongin’s shoulder. “I didn’t know what came over me. I now feel like I’ve taken advantage of you. Please forgive me.”

“I was pretty wasted.” Jongin chuckles burrowing himself further into Chanyeol’s heat. “But I loved it. Loved it so much, loved seeing you lose control.”

Chanyeol chuckles darkly, “You haven’t seen me lose control just yet.”

Jongin’s breath hitches, the words causing a tightening to his groin. He groans, “Chanyeol.”

“Don’t seduce me. If I fuck you, you won’t be dancing anytime soon and I honestly miss seeing you dance.”

“Do you want a private performance?” Jongin chuckles. Chanyeol’s expression shutters for a moment before it morphs into something feral. Jongin’s kind of expecting it when Chanyeol kisses him hard.

Later, he pants into Chanyeol’s neck as he rides him. He likes the feel of Chanyeol’s warm palms, big and calloused as they ran down his back. Chanyeol destroys him and puts him back together over and over.

Jongin’s sated, the pleasure settling right unto his very bones. He loves it.

//

Their relationship is unclear but Chanyeol treats Jongin like the dancer is his.

They’re back into their normal routines. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months and before Chanyeol could notice, another year end is closing upon him. It’s been seven months since he’s met Jongin and the dancer’s videos occupy most of Chanyeol’s time. He has hours’ worth of footage, of just Jongin’s dancing. But the recent videos are just Jongin. Jongin in the kitchen, Jongin laughing, Jongin naked upon his sheets after endless hours of making love. Jongin, Jongin, Jongin.

The feeling is all encompassing and it’s like Chanyeol’s sees Jongin in everything. He sees Jongin in the brown and orange leaves of Fall, in that rumpled sweater tossed at the foot of his bed, in the chipped coffee mug on his pantry, on the wrinkled white sheets of his bed.

He’s tempted to call it love but Chanyeol doesn’t want to admit, it scares him. Thankfully, Jongin hasn’t demanded a label. They’re happy.

And it could have been so perfect until the inevitable happened.

//

“When are you finishing – fuck, wait – that side project?”

Chanyeol continues to nip at Baekhyun’s collarbones his hands steadily roaming the slight man’s back. He shrugs and as the thoughts of Jongin slowly rushes into surface, all of Chanyeol’s lust for his best friend dissipates unto thin air. He shrugs, pushing Baekhyun off him. The other director simply stares at Chanyeol as if weirded and slowly gets off his lap. “You aren’t in the mood for a good fuck?”

The contrast of Baekhyun’s looks to his over-all personality would appear to be incongruous to some people. The thing about him is that, he may look like an innocent child yet his language and his habits are definitely not. Sometimes the incongruity amuses Chanyeol more than anything else.

“No. I just want to drink.” Chanyeol stares at the bottle of bourbon sitting almost unbothered on the coffee table. “And you’re not even in the mood for it, why bother?”

Baekhyun shrugs and steals Chanyeol’s crystal glass from his grasp. He polishes the alcohol and replaces it on the coffee table. “I don’t know. I asked you a question.”

“It’s finished.” Chanyeol says. He gets his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Baekhyun. The screen opens from pitch black to the still playing video. It’s a compilation of Jongin’s dancing. Clips from his street performances, dance classes and his music less performance all sewn together in a poignant twenty-minute video. There’s no flashy editing but the camerawork is stupendous. Chanyeol had smiled because he thought he’d lost his knack for cinematography but it seems like Jongin had resurrected it to life.

“It’s beautiful.” Baekhyun says, almost awed. “He’s fucking beautiful. What do you plan to do to this?”

“I don’t know.” Chanyeol stares at the beauty that is Kim Jongin and the familiar thudding in his chest announces itself. “I’d ask for Junmyeon’s forgiveness and I’d tell him to screen it at some obscure indie film fest under a pseudonym. And then I’d return to my abandoned projects, I guess.”

“Then why do you sound so miserable?”

“Because I don’t know what I want anymore. Thinking about returning to my films sickens me and I just don’t think I could do those again considering this massive project I’ve done with him.”

For a moment Baekhyun had looked confused, then horrified. “Chanyeol did you two, fuck?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just answer the question damnit! Did you or did you not?”

Chanyeol nods. “Yes, quite a couple of times. Why?”

“Oh _fuck._ ” Baekhyun enunciates, standing up from the couch. _“Fuckity, fuck, fuck._

Baekhyun starts pacing, his feminine fingers raking through his fiery red hair. “This is wrong Chanyeol. You’re cheating on him, with me out of all the goddamned people you know!”

“We’re not like that Baekhyun. We don’t have labels, we’re not exclusive. Plus, he’s a project and nothing else.”

Baekhyun just stares at Chanyeol and the younger director simmers under his gaze. It’s a while before Baekhyun speaks, doing so after he takes a gulp straight from the bottle of bourbon. The man puts it back down after taking a hefty gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You’re so incredibly smart but ironically, you can also be so fucking stupid at the same damn time. You’re something else Chanyeol.” Baekhyun tells him. “Do you really expect me to believe that Jongin’s just a project? Yeol, no one ever captures your interest months on end, you don’t talk about the same person over and over again, you don’t quit your money-making job just because you’ve started videoing some dancer you’ve seen on the streets. And most importantly, I’ve known you long enough to know that you never sleep with the same person twice. Jongin is not just a project.You’ve become attached.”

Chanyeol cocks a brow. “I’ve slept with you more than a couple of times though.”

“Of all the things I mentioned, that’s what got through your brain, what the fuck Chanyeol. But of course, I’m a different case, you’ll never get enough of this ass.”

“Conceited.” Chanyeol says, exasperated at his best friend. “But I don’t know Baek. I don’t want this project to be over, I want to see him dance and I want to immortalize those moments in film. I want to do it again and again. I wonder why I don’t tire of him.”

“It’s because you love him, you fucking idiot.”

“No, I don’t. You’ve told me before, I wasn’t capable of loving someone else, because I’m too much of a hedonistic fucker.”

Baekhyun laughs, “You _are_ a hedonistic fucker, but I never implied that hedonistic fuckers can never love.”

“Are we really having this conversation right now?”

“Yes. But where is Jongin anyway?”

Chanyeol glances at his now simple watch, nothing extravagant. The clock face tells him it’s almost eleven and Jongin should’ve been back and hour and half ago. He sighs, picking up his phone and hitting number two on speed dial. Jongin usually picks up past nine pm but this time, the phone rings and rings.

Chanyeol’s eyebrows furrow when Jongin doesn’t pick up after the third call. “Why isn’t he picking up?”

“See, you’re attached to him.” Baekhyun supplies unhelpfully. Chanyeol directs him a baleful glare.

He redials again. Jongin doesn’t answer.  Chanyeol realizes the depth of his attachment when worry surges through him like he’d been struck. He stands up, immediately shuffling towards the door.

“I’m going to the dance studio. Please don’t –“ Chanyeol’s about to tell the other to cease chugging down the remains of his Elijah Craig but seeing as Baekhyun’s already pouring a good portion of the bourbon down his throat, Chanyeol only sighs. “You know what, never mind. Please don’t throw up on the carpet.”

Baekhyun produced an elaborate gesture with his fingers, “Bye bye, lover boy.”

Chanyeol shakes his head.

//

As soon as Chanyeol steps out of his Audi, the wind immediately bites at his face. He shivers, quickly shuffling to the sidewalk as he rubs his hands on the lapels of his overcoat. Overlooking the street is the still lighted, two-storey dance studio where Jongin works at. Chanyeol’s eyebrows furrow. Jongin never fails to inform him about late night dance practices so Chanyeol’s unsure as to what happened.

He enters the building and hikes up the second floor. Chanyeol hears the beat of what sounds like hiphop music with EDM backings before he sees Jongin. The dancer is noticeably alone and he’s dancing almost aggressively.

Chanyeol succumbs to his ever ceaseless fascination and instead of approaching the younger he settles in a corner and watches.

There’s just something about Jongin that begs an audience. The way he moves his body screams a message, something the audience could translate for himself.  It's passion. Chanyeol knows a thing or two about passion, knows the feeling of getting so immersed it’s hard to resurface sometimes. And that is something enviable about Jongin.

Maybe Baekhyun is right, Chanyeol has learned to love Jongin. But he fears of what he could do to Jongin, he fears the effects of subjecting Jongin to the dizzying glitz and glamour of his life.

Yes, Chanyeol knows a thing or two about passion, but he’s more versed to how easily it gets fractured, then inevitably damaged. Fame, that’s how you ruin it because fame is when the lines between public and private are nonexistent, fame demands a person to be cut open with surgical precision and be criticized for the littlest things, for the littlest of everything. Fame demands curated perfection, something artificial.

Fame snuffs out passion and even despite Jongin’s perfection, he is not artificial. His beauty and his art is untamed something not everyone would appreciate.

The situation presents a question without an answer: How would Chanyeol declare his feelings without dragging Jongin across the entertainment industry’s diamond embellished streets without wounding him?

His head spins upon the realization and without him noticing, Jongin abruptly stops as the music cuts off and transitions into something much slower. Jongin approaches him and they stare at each other.

The dancer’s expression is closed off, and that’s something unusual.

“Hi.” Chanyeol tries to smile despite the unease. “I called, you weren’t answering.”

“ _Blind_ , 2012; _The Long Road Back,_ 2009; _Hyung_ , 2010; _Glory Day,_ 2015.”

Chanyeol’s blood runs cold as Jongin stares at him, reciting the most popular of the films Chanyeol had directed. “ _Twenty Once Again, 2014;Mr. Six,_ 2016\. _Pure – “_

_“Stop.”_

“Newbie director huh?” Jongin’s laugh is hollow. “Didn’t know a newbie director could get so many awards for the most popular films in the past decade. C.Y Park, award winning director, cinematographer and film producer. Why didn’t you just tell me Chanyeol hyung?”

Chanyeol averts his gaze and shakes his head. “Jongin it goes deeper than this.”  

“Of course, how fucking stupid of me.” It hurts to hear Jongin’s voice break, “Someone of your caliber wouldn’t really want to be involved with the likes of me, someone who danced on the streets, interesting enough to steal some of your time.”

“Jongin you’re not stupid.” Chanyeol rises to his full height. His voice shakes, it’s bass tone pitching higher as hysteria slowly settles into his conscious.“I have my reasons. But I swear Jongin, I was going to tell you once the project is finished. Please, listen.”

Jongin lets out a deprecating chuckle. “Why? From the start, did you think I’d just rob you blind if I knew how fucking rich you are? I’m dirt poor but I’m not that kind of person.”

“No, it’s not that, please let me explain.” Chanyeol feels like he’s going to break into a fit of loud sobs. His heart rate increases ever so exponentially and it feels like the organ sustaining his life would claw its way out of his chest. He wraps his long fingers around Jongin’s bicep, silently begging _please, please not again._

“You don’t need to explain Chanyeol, I know I’m just a project. I hope you got what you wanted from me but I hate that you dragged it out until I fucking fell for you.”

_I fucking fell for you._

_I fell for you._

Chanyeol couldn’t find words that would paint the gravity of his shock.

“It’s just cruel, you didn’t have to pretend. You didn’t have to make me feel like I was more than your test subject. I would have danced for you, danced until I bled, danced until you thought I was perfect. Fuck, Chanyeol, I wanted you to fucking own me.”

“Jongin it’s not like that –“ Chanyeol grabs the other by his forearm, “Please just let me explain.”

Jongin stares at him, his eyes vacant. Chanyeol would have appreciated it better if the dancer just screamed and beat him into a pulp. He hated looking at Jongin as if Chanyeol robbed him of his life. “Just leave Chanyeol, please. We both know someone is waiting for you right now.”

Rejection is being stabbed then cut open. Chanyeol could have carved out his own damn heart because it hurt far too much than he’d been expecting. Chanyeol’s used to rejection but he isn’t immune.

He doesn’t cry, couldn’t cry and he starts to realize that it’s hard to have a certain reaction to something as harrowing as this kind of pain. Chanyeol thinks he’s on the precipice of going mad.

//

 

Chanyeol couldn’t adjust to Jongin’s abrupt departure from his life. Jongin’s isn’t near anymore but Chanyeol remains to see images of the man – spectral, haunting him. He couldn’t sleep.

To distract himself, he drinks and fucks, falling into a routine hoping he’d poison himself. Easier said than done because there’re far too much of Jongin around him. Every single body he touches reminds him of Jongin, of the way he’d caved and begged but no one ever came close, no one touched his soul like Jongin did.

Jongin is as perfect in film. The haze brought by alcohol fails to cloud Chanyeol’s senses and it seemed like the more intoxicated he got, the clearer Jongin registered into his mind. So he drinks more, polishing bottle after bottle and smoking his lungs into ashes.

He hates himself.

And he misses Jongin, misses Jongin like he’d go crazy if he doesn’t see him. In retrospect, Chanyeol’s probably insane.

//

Chanyeol’s more inebriated than sober when he polishes the project. The accomplishment upon rounding the task is nonexistent. He feels bereft as his masterpiece settles firmly inside a disc and it stares at Chanyeol as if it’s mocking him.

He misses Jongin, misses him terribly his bones ached with it.

Chanyeol’s magnum opus then ends up in Junmyeon’s care. Chanyeol tells him to screen it whenever and wherever – Chanyeol couldn’t begin to give a damn fuck. It’s useless, after all the only person he wished to give it to, has left him, like all others.

But this time, the director realizes that it’s almost impossible to deal with the shards that Jongin has left him in. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much.

For the first time in his life, Chanyeol begins to realize the depth of his insignificance. Despite his fame, wealth and so called ‘creative brilliance’ he feels miniscule.

//

Two months pass. Chanyeol blinks and another year end award show is upon him. Apparently, Junmyeon had entered his masterpiece under the short film category of some obscure and highly independent film festival. He hadn’t explicitly told Junmyeon to use a pseudonym for production credits but Junmyeon seemed to have heed his unsaid request.

 It’s ironic, his most treasured work viewed by an audience of less than a hundred. The film wins best cinematography, best film editing and best score. The comments posted online were all highly critical, some sang his praises, some methodically cut him open. But Chanyeol doesn’t need more societal affirmation and toxic glory. After everything that’s been done, Chanyeol is past all that.                       

He’s standing on the red carpet once again, pretending to smile for the cameras who are suddenly clamoring upon him. No one expected that someone as influential as Director Chanyeol Park would appear in an otherwise obscure award show. He smiles, tries to be optimistic despite feeling like he’d been floating in a limbo he thought he’ll never escape from.

“Director Park, Director Park care to spoil some of your recent projects?”

“Director Park is it true that you’ve been involved with Director Byun Baekhyun from _Raging Fires?”_

“Director Park what can you say about your recent Best Picture?”

The questions used to be familiar but they’re too much for Chanyeol’s distraught mind.He simply nods, lips remaining tightly sealed as he finally enters the venue for the night.

 

Chanyeol doesn’t feel any sort of accomplishment nor excitement as he goes up the stage to receive his awards. A hush falls upon the crowd when his carefully made-up face is flashed by the big screens flanking the stage. He looks at everyone in that small room and silently wishes for Jongin.

He smiles, sadly. “Wasn’t he beautiful?”

The crowd stills, listening to his every word with rapt attention. “Technically, I’ve momentarily ceased my life for the past few months, working on that twenty-minute video you’ve just witnessed.” He says, thumbing the edge of the microphone.“Years I’ve been making ideas come to life, built worlds out of people’s imaginations. Frankly, directing my past films, even those society deemed as my best, wasn’t as hard asproducing this.” Chanyeol exhaled, gripping the award plaque harder. “Because I wanted to preserve all the feelings this dancer invoked upon me, I tried so hard to not tamper with his art, with his perfection. And I wanted to share it to every damn soul, I wanted to share how it made me feel.”

The audience remains mute. Chanyeol closes his eyes and inhales. “I lost my passion for everything, even my art, which was the center of my life for so long. I was stuck in a routine that cycled endlessly. It was going to kill me, but I found this dancer on some alley –  beautiful little thing and he saved me. So, this, my magnum opus, is solely for him. Thank you for coming into my life, and saving me from the monster that I’ve become.”

Chanyeol’s whispered _I love you_ cannot be heard as the small hall erupts into an applause that starts and builds into a crescendo. Chanyeol prays to god for a miracle. 

He wants to see Jongin.

//

“You need to stop doing this to yourself.”

Jongin clearly hears Taemin’s words beyond the muted reverberation of his speakers and yet he doesn’t listen to the man. He stares at his reflection, dancing their most recent routine. He’s not supposed to practice so vigorously a day or two before a very important showcase. Jongin couldn’t stop, refuses to stop.

Taemin cuts the music and Jongin wheezes as he loses the beat, consequently stepping on the wrong foot. The cold wooden floor welcomes his fall with a loud thud. Jongin whites out in pain.

Taemin scrambles to help him, scowling. “What kind of wild fucking stunt do you wish to pull, huh? Are you forgetting that you’re fucking front and center?Do me a favor and self-destruct tomorrow after the show, alright.”

Jongin’s skin is sticky as he completely lays on the floor, trying to catch his breath. He wonders if he could tire himself to the point of passing out, he’d really appreciate that right this moment. At least it stops him from missing Chanyeol so much.

“Jongin really what’s the deal with Chanyeol?”                                        

“There’ no _deal_ with Chanyeol, okay. I’ve done my part, and he has no other use for me.”

“Then care to elaborate why you’re dead set on trying to kill yourself? You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you’re half dead. So please pardon if I’m trying to concern myself, I’m merely your best friend.”

“I miss him.” Jongin whispers, “I miss him so fucking much, you happy now?”

“Then what the fuck is stopping your from seeing him?”

Jongin tries to think of the numerous reasons as to why he can’t see Chanyeol, as to why he _can’t_ be with Chanyeol. In retrospect, he should have listened to the man’s reasons. But fear preceded any rational thinking and when he fears his insecurities never fail to take the better of him.

Jongin thought he knew Chanyeol, it’s laughable that in under one click, he realized that he doesn’t know Chanyeol at all.

It would have been fine, honestly, if Chanyeol isn’t this unreachable person and if Jongin is more qualified than a bumbling dancer who has too much time on his hands.

Jongin hates himself for being so invested, especially in someone like Chanyeol. He’s expendable, insignificant and he knows for a fact that Chanyeol will eventually tire of him and everything he has to offer, after all, hordes would gladly throw themselves upon Chanyeol’s feet if they must. People who look better and lead better lives than Jongin are under Chanyeol perusal. Chanyeol might as well just point his damn finger and pick. On the other hand, what does Jongin have to offer other than his dancing? Well, nothing.

And that’s what scares Jongin. Chanyeol may have been fascinated by him but not all fascinations persist. Chanyeol will tire of him and he’s royally fucked because he’s fallen so deeply, so _irrevocably_ for the older man and there is no escaping the side effects of eventual rejection. Jongin will never be ready to deal with something like that. It’s selfish, but it’s also such a human thing to do.

And it’s also such a human thing to miss Chanyeol.

“Nothing.” Jongin says minutes later. “Nothing stops me from seeing him, and no one but myself.”

 

The next day comes too fast for Jongin’s liking. He’s sweating under his stage costume and his face itches and he wants to scratch but his makeup is already done and there is simply no time to redo it because of Jongin’s usual stage jitters.

This performance hall is his favorite. Something about its wooden floors, felt seats and stage curtains give it a certain kind of old-world charm. He remembers dancing for Chanyeol on the same stage when no one had been watching, he tries to remember that feeling, when he’d been so confident because Chanyeol stared at him as if he was Chanyeol’s whole world.

Jongin should be happy right now, but his nerves make him shake. There’s about a thousand people hidden behind the glare of the stage lights and everyone is so bloody quiet. The hush is unnerving. 

He wishes Chanyeol is there, watching him amongst the sea of faces so unfamiliar to Jongin.

“Gather ‘round.”                                                                                                                  

The dance team huddles into a circle, shoulders thrown atop each other’s, sweat trickling from one body to the next. Jongin finds comfort in this. They share one moment of silence, looking at each other with eyes that gleamed even in the dark.

The intro of their music begins and the hush finally crescendos into an applause. Taemin’s final shout of encouragement gets drowned as the team erupts into a loud confident scream.

 

The showcase lasts shy of two hours. The show is supposedly the team’s culminating event for the year and they’ve successfully made it grand by displaying varied performances and solos.

When Jongin steps onstage for his solo, the floor slightly sinks allowing water to flow and slosh around his ankles. Jongin closes his eyes as the softest piano melody begin. As usual, Jongin allows it to take control of his body, of his movements of his dancing. The choreography comes to him like it’s muscle memory. When the melody dies, Jongin’s thoroughly drenched and he uses his fingers to sweep wet hair away from his forehead. The stage light finally dims and that’s when Jongin sees him.

Chanyeol is standing up and applauding and for a few short seconds, their eyes meet. The director’s stare is sad but proud and some part of Jongin wanted to leap offstage.

 

The showcase is finished after the encore.

Jongin fails to see Chanyeol again. Maybe he’d hallucinated the man in his desire to see him.

“Park Chanyeol was here earlier.” Taemin says pulling him away from the rest of the dance team. He hands Jongin a disk case, and says. “There’s a bunch of really nice flowers on your part of the dressing room. All from him.”

“Where’s he?”

The other dancer shrugs. “He left immediately. What’s in the CD?”

Jongin stares at the said object in his hand, smiling tiredly. “I’ll go find out. Mind if I skip the first part of celebrations?”

Taemin shrugs. “Sure, whatever. We’ll be at the usual, we’re all gonna get shitfaced tonight. Don’t skip on the fun.”

Jongin slowly moves into the adjacent dressing room. True to Taemin’s words, a nice bunch of bloody red roses are sitting unbothered in front of his mirror amongst his cluttered makeup. The card says _congratulations on your performance. you were beautiful._ Jongin muses that Chanyeol’s handwriting is quite ugly and yet he stashes the note anyway.

He loads the disk on the player and sits and watches. The video is quite long, obviously unedited as the transitions are cut haphazardly. Jongin sees himself in Myeongdong. He’s wearing a T-shirt and he surmises that the video must have been taken way back in summer, when he first met the director. A good chunk of the video is of his dancing but the latter part is different. It’s still him, but Jongin sees himself when he’s limping in his crutches, when he’s sprawled on Chanyeol’s couch, when he’s upper body is naked and he’s sleeping on Chanyeol’s bed, when he’s smiling and looking at the person holding a camera to his face.

Jongin fast forwards hoping to see more clips of him dancing but the rest of the video is solely of him. He realizes that he looks happy in the videos, always smiling and even in the cuts where he’s not looking at camera, he looks content.

Jongin’s chest constricts as the video ends, it didn’t contain any annotation, no final words, no voice overs. The overwhelming desire to see the other man is hard to endure. Jongin trips over himself in his haste to pull a ratty sweatshirt over his frame, he doesn’t even bother changing out of his skin-tight costume pants.

He needs to see Chanyeol.                                                                                                    

//

Jongin is more than beautiful but there’s currently no other words to describe him so Chanyeol settles for it.

He was standing on the farthest corner of the auditorium hoping that Jongin wouldn’t have to see him but he couldn’t help himself when he moved closer to watch the dancer perform solo. The affair was breathtaking and it fueled Chanyeol’s desire to be close, to touch, to feel. He misses Jongin so much.

In the end, Chanyeol’s a coward and he settles for puny roses to announce his longing for someone he holds dearest. Pathetic.

He goes home and his apartment is frigid and dark, he doesn’t bother with the lights. There’s still a half empty bottle of liquor on his coffee table and he snatches it before moving out to sit on the veranda.

When you’ve been chugging bourbon days on end, it’ll eventually taste like water. Chanyeol doesn’t even feel the scorch that used to feel so glorious because his mind is too busy caught up on Jongin. The doorbell rings, he doesn’t hear but he does feel the sudden thundering of his heart when a body presses at him from behind.

Chanyeol freezes.

“I’m sorry.”

Chanyeol screws his eyes shut but he forces them open when arms wrap tightly around his middle. “I’m sorry, I should have listened. I’m sorry, I’m sorry –“

Jongin doesn’t get to finish his litany of apologies when Chanyeol turns around and crushes him in an embrace. Chanyeol tells himself to utter a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in just for giving him this small moment, for Jongin to be so near.

“I missed you.” Chanyeol breathes, “I missed you so fucking much. Thought I was gonna go crazy.”

“Can we talk?” Jongin asks, detaching himself from Chanyeol’s hold. Chanyeol feels bereft.

The dancer scans the vicinity and his eyes land on the bottle of liquor, discarded on the side. He chuckles. “You need to start taking care of your liver old man.”

Chanyeol smiles. “I watched your whole showcase. You were beautiful, perfect.”

Jongin shakes his head. “You have a skewed perception of me, hyung. Just because I was marginally interesting, doesn’t mean I’m perfect.”

Chanyeol is not sober anymore. He cups Jongin’s face and traces the line of his cheeks. So beautiful.

“But I do think you’re perfect, even your flaws.” He murmurs, holding the dancer close.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you truly were the first time I asked?”

Chanyeol looks away, sighing. He leans against the balustrade and it’s a long time before he opens his mouth. “Honestly, I didn’t know who I was either. I was just, lost.And you were there, looking so happy and I thought I’d be so fucking satisfied if I had an ounce of what you felt in that moment, when the music stopped and you were catching your breath.” He glances at Jongin,“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to warp your perception of me. If you knew I was C.Y Park, filmmaker extraordinaire, you’d assume I was this big, important person.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“People have these preconceived notions, they think all who’s under the spotlight have their life together and everything they could ever want but it’s never been like that. Frankly, I’m no big, important person. I’m just Chanyeol, and I’m a fucking mess. Somehow, I wanted you to see that.”

“But why?”

“I didn’t want to tamper with your art. I didn’t want you to think so highly of me.” Chanyeol says. “I find you perfect Jongin and I didn’t want you to change into someone you already are if faced with someone who you think is better than you or who’s standing on a higher place than you just because he’s famous, just because he’s known.”

Jongin chortles “You really thought, I’d do that? You wound me hyung.” Chanyeol shakes his head, chuckling.

“I’m insecure but admittedly, I find it impossible to change into someone I’m not to mold into another person’s view of me. Chanyeol, I’m not perfect you have a skewed perception of me too.”

“You’re right and I’m sincerely sorry.  But I don’t regret it, because I found myself increasingly becoming fond of you. I am afraid of what my affections could do to you and your passion. My world isn’t all that beautiful, it’s ugly. It’s a big soul sucking void that’s incredibly hard to resist. Even if you didn’t want any part of it, by my association, I’ve already dragged you in. I don’t want to string you along Jongin, but I did.”

“Is this why you called me a project? Am I still a project to you Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol shakes his head, he approaches Jongin and silently embraces him. “So, you heard it. I’m sorry. To tell you the truth, I was so fucking fascinated the first time I saw you and yes you were my project. I was fascinated by the dancer, and capturing his perfection in the rawest way possible was my goal, my project. But then again, you’re more than your dancing.” Chanyeol smiles, “and Jongin falling in love with every part of you, wasn’t planned.”

Chanyeol pauses, trying to gauge the dancer’s reaction. Jongin merely gazes at him.“I was with Baekhyun that night, I was kissing him we were about to fuck,” Chanyeol says very slowly and revels in the way Jongin wraps his arms around his torso, almost possessively, “but I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I know we aren’t dating but Baekhyun told me I was cheating on you. Baekhyun and I, we’ve been doing this friends with benefits things for a while now. He’s a shitty friend but a friend nonetheless and he knows me. He told me I was stupid, told me I was – am – in love with you.”

“I’m scared Chanyeol. What if you grow sick of me? It’s crazy, you made me feel so important and I don’t think I can deal with you discarding me like everyone else. I love you but you must understand that I’m just a dancer, I’m not famous. I’m not of your caliber.”

Chanyeol chuckles at the words. “Who knows Jongin, maybe you’ll get tired of me, after all I’m older than you and you’re bound to meet better people. Maybe I’ll stop being fascinated. There’s too much maybes to think and worry about but we’ve wasted so much time thinking about all those maybes and I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. I want to live in the now. We may want to get rid of each other one day but at least we have had good memories. I’ll always think of you as someone who’s ignited my passion when I thought it flickered out and died. I’ll think of you as someone I held dear.”

Jongin doesn’t reply but he presses closer and without thought, kisses Chanyeol. Chanyeol kisses him back, gently, adoringly. He loves Jongin so much.

“Love me.” Jongin whispers near Chanyeol’s neck. “Please.”

Chanyeol holds Jongin’s face and they kiss again. Lust, love, want need – Chanyeol’s not sure but he needs to feel Jongin’s skin against his own. They amble to the bedroom, lights remain turned off. Jongin’s skin is warm as Chanyeol kisses him in every surface, silently whispering how much he loved him. Their breathing is ragged as clothes come off. Chanyeol take his time touching the dancer. He wants to memorize every hard line, dip and curve of Jongin’s body. He wants to immortalize this moment.

Jongin wraps his arms around Chanyeol’s neck and kisses him again. “Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol wants to melt. “I love you.” He tells Jongin as his hands slowly traipses down Jongin’s hip near his thigh. “I love you so, so much.” The words pull out a breathy moan from the back of Jongin’s throat. “I know how much you like it, but please don’t make me beg.”

Chanyeol shakes his head. “Be patient.”

It’s drawn out because Chanyeol wants to unravel Jongin so slowly so that he can tip him hard over the edge. His touches and his kisses are reverent because the dancer deserves someone that would gladly revere him and his body.

Chanyeol slid in so slow and even in the dark, he can see Jongin’s face, flushed and so, so beautiful. Chanyeol wants to wake up to Jongin’s face every morning, as long as he lived.

“Please.” Jongin’s voice is low. “Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol doesn’t heed him, his thrusts begin slow and deep transitioning faster. He learns that Jongin doesn’t make much sounds in bed but the way the younger breathes and pants his name along with a litany of abject profanities is music to Chanyeol’s ear. He tips Jongin over the edge and the latter rewards him with a full body shudder, Jongin’s legs are still around his torso. Chanyeol finds his release, his pace getting erratic as he loses himself in Jongin’s body. When he tries to pull out, Jongin shakes his head. “Come inside me.”

Chanyeol shudders, his release painting Jongin’s insides. He collapses, bodies still connected. The director catches his breath, panting as Jongin digs his nails on his back.

“I love you.” Jongin tells him. Chanyeol smiles against the man’s neck, rolling over as he pulls out. He stares at Jongin’s face in the dark and traces the lines on the man’s cheek.

Chanyeol finally feels alive.

__

_“Are you sure you’re gonna be fine tonight? You practically got mobbed the first time you went to a premier with me.”_

_Jongin rolls his eyes at Chanyeol who’s sipping his coffee – thankfully, just coffee. They only take out the bourbon on special occasions otherwise known when either of them is incredibly stressed._

_“I’m gonna be fine. Gotta show everyone that we haven’t divorced and that I still own your ass.” Jongin rolls his eyes. “Where the fuck did the paparazzi even get that idea? I mean just because Baekhyun hasn’t been giving them enough topic to gossip about doesn’t mean they can just spew nonsense about us. Plus, the incident was two years ago. Can’t I support my damn husband on his newly directed film?”_

_Chanyeol laughs, leaning over to kiss Jongin soundly on the lips. “Aww, I love it when you become so stressed about a gossip tabloid. You look like a puppy.”_

_“Chanyeol, I will cut you.”_

_“Easy there, tiger. But, you’re right. Baekhyun needs to propose to Sehun or something, he’s been awfully quiet since getting back together with that noodle. Anyway, how’s the preparation for your showcase?”_

_Jongin smiles thoughtfully. “Going well. I guess.”_

_“Love.” Chanyeol calls, “Are you really sure about retiring from the troupe. Not having any second thoughts? You know, I’d support you right?”_

_Jongin shakes his head. “I’m too old for the dance troupe anyway. I won’t stop dancing but I have to give up something if I want to raise our son well.”_

_Chanyeol grins, “You do know that I’m never forcing you to be the mother figure in this family, right? If you still want to be with the dance troupe then by all means, dance. I can take care of our son for the both of us, or well, hire some help?”_

_“Chanyeol you don’t even know how to change his diapers!”_

_“Hey! I’m trying! Junmyeon hyung’s wife has been a great help thus far.”_

_Jongin laughs. “It’s okay, love. Dancing will always be an extension of me, remember? I’m not stopping it altogether. I just want to be there for our son.”_

_“Do you know how much I love you?” Chanyeol rhetorically asks, smiling at Jongin._

_His stare still causes Jongin’s insides to turn into knots. “Yes.” Jongin teases. “You love me so much, I know you punched the paparazzo who wrote about our divorce. Really, Yeol as much as I’m flattered, please don’t do that again.”_

_“Guilty as charged.” Chanyeol chuckles. “I didn’t break his nose or anything, I didn’t punch him either. I just cuffed him.”_

_Jongin rounds the table and kisses the man, his husband. “Whatever Chanyeol. I love you too.”_

_Later that evening, they’re standing on the red carpet. Chanyeol’s hand is warm upon Jongin’s clothed back. Honestly, this part of Chanyeol’s life still scares him and he has long understood why Chanyeol feared that show business would harm him. But year after year, Chanyeol has protected him to the best of his ability. It’s difficult to be with someone famous but Jongin loves the man under the spotlight._

_“Director Park, so the reports about your divorce are not true?”_

_Jongin answers for him. “We’re not divorcing, well I hope not anytime soon.” Chanyeol chuckles, “We’re raising a son, and when a baby wails in the middle of the night, you don’t even get to think about anything else, even divorce causing problems.”_

_Chanyeol stares at the camera. “Sorry to disappoint folks, no divorce happening. Unfortunately, my gorgeous husband is still off the market. But I heard someone’s marrying soon. You know, that gorgeous leading man from ‘Thieves’ and a director.”_

_The paparazzi erupts into more questions but Chanyeol’s already leading Jongin away from the flashing cameras._

_Jongin smiles, the heat of Chanyeol’s palm is comforting._

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to limelight mods for hosting this fest! /applause/ this started out as something super self indulgent. seriously, i just wanted to find excuse to write chankai smut but then this happened, and it's so much more than the porn i was thinking about? lmfao. i feel like i've left little pieces of myself as i was writing this and i hope everyone enjoys this even just a little bit. tags may seem super sad or angsty, but i promise it's not. that's not how i roll.


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